The Spider and the Fly. Garvice Charles

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СКАЧАТЬ onto one of the ledges of which he had spoken, and Violet's horrified eyes lost first his legs, then his body, and last of all his good-looking face, as it disappeared below the edge.

      Rooted to the spot with terror which she in vain struggled to suppress, Violet grew white as death and almost as cold.

      At last her terror found utterance in a deep-drawn moan.

      "Oh! come back! Please come back! I am sure you will be killed! It is horrible! Do come back!"

      While she was still entreating and commanding the handsome, careless face arose above the surface again, and, with slow, cautious movements, the stranger, with the recovered sunshade in his hand, was beside her.

      Violet drew a long breath of relief, and then, with a smile that was better than all the thanks in the world, said:

      "I won't thank you, for I think you were more foolish than even I. You said it was dangerous to look over, and you actually went over! And all for this stupid, worthless thing." And she shook the sunshade with annoyance.

      "Not altogether for the sunshade," said the gentleman, smiling again. "But I am glad I have got it for you, and I assure you the danger was less than I at first imagined it; indeed, for me there was no danger. I am blessed with a steady nerve, and have had some experience in mountaineering."

      Violet looked down, and then up at his calm face.

      "It was very good and kind of you," she said, "and I will thank you, after all, I think." Then she made a movement, which he took in intimation that he might say good-day, and, accordingly, he raised his hat – or, rather, would have done so, had not the wind saved him the trouble.

      "How provoking!" said Violet, looking after the hat, as it sailed over the cliff, in imitation of the sunshade. "I am afraid there is a fatality about this spot. I do hope you will not go down after it, too!"

      "No, indeed!" he said, with a light, pleasant laugh; "my hat is really of no consequence – "

      "Oh! but of more than my parasol! You have nothing to protect your head, and the sun is quite as hot as it was five minutes ago." And she smiled naïvely.

      "True," he said. "But my head is used to scorching; in fact, rather likes it."

      "You must take my sunshade," said Violet, with provoking gravity.

      "No, thank you," he said, imitating the gravity and suppressing the smile. "I do not dread the sunstroke, and I have but a few steps to go," nodding to the blazing Cedars.

      Violet was guilty of an unmistakable start.

      "The Cedars!" she exclaimed, extending her beautiful eyes to their widest, "but you are not – " and she paused as if absolutely too astonished to conclude the sentence.

      "My name is Leicester Dodson," said the gentleman, a slight, but not imperceptible reserve showing upon his face, and in the tone of his voice as he spoke.

      "Mr. Dodson's son!" said Violet, slowly, as if the intelligence were too astonishing to be taken in instanter.

      The gentleman bowed.

      "Mr. Dodson's and Mrs. Dodson's son," he said, with a smile.

      For a moment Violet stood still; then her face lit up with its delicious smile, and, with a frank gesture, she held out her hand.

      "Then we are neighbors," she said, as Mr. Leicester Dodson, with as much surprise as his courtesy would allow his face to express, took the well-shaped, little hand. "I am Miss Mildmay."

      Mr. Leicester dropped her hand as if it had grown red-hot and had burned him. Violet colored then, but understood his gesture of repudiation instantly. "He knows how aunt dislikes his people, and is sorry he rescued my sunshade," she thought.

      "I am happy to have been of some slight service to you, Miss Mildmay," he said, coldly, with a careless but distant bow; then he turned and walked slowly down the steep path.

      Violet, looking down after him until his bare head had dropped slowly out of sight, then said, audibly:

      "Well, that is pride now; but it is proper pride, I think," smiled rather sadly, and returned homeward.

      "Aunt!" she said, coming into the drawing-room just before dinner was served, and more quietly than was her wont, "I've had an adventure on the cliffs, startling and melodramatic. My sunshade blew over, and a gentleman was polite enough to go after it."

      "My dear!" exclaimed the old lady, thinking it one of her darling's jokes.

      "It's true, aunt. A stranger risked his neck – precious, no doubt, to himself and family – for a fifteen-and-six-penny sunshade. Imprudent, but heroic, was it not?"

      "Very good and kind, but imprudent, as you say, my dear. Young men are so rash!"

      "This one was not," said Violet, picking at the costly fringe on her dress; "he was as calm and cool as – as – a cucumber."

      "A stranger," said Mrs. Mildmay, smiling. "Whom can it be, I wonder? Somebody staying at the Wenningfords, no doubt."

      "Aunt!" said Violet; then suddenly changing the subject, "do not the vicar and his wife dine with us on Saturday?"

      "Yes, my dear, and I have asked Mr. and Mrs. Giles. The vicar is a dear, good man, but – "

      "Rather a bore," put in Violet, decidedly.

      Mrs. Mildmay looked shocked, but Violet, without waiting for a reprimand, went on, with slow and most unusual gravity:

      "Do you know, aunt, I should like to ask this heroic gentleman of mine?"

      "A perfect stranger, my dear!" said Mrs. Mildmay, with a smile.

      "Yes, a perfect stranger, but a gentleman. Perfect strangers who are gentlemen, and heroic enough to risk their lives for one's sunshade, are people worth knowing. Aunt, ask him. He is tall, rather dark, goldeny-brown, you know, nice eyes, a yellow mustache and – I think that's all I remember – I was going to mention the smile but, of course, he may not always wear that."

      "I don't remember him, my dear," said Mrs. Mildmay. "But if you really want to know him I'll try and find out who he is from the servants."

      "And ask him to dinner?" urged Violet.

      Mrs. Mildmay looked bewildered and puzzled.

      "Yes, my dear, if you wish it, and he really belongs to the Wenningfords."

      "I do wish it, aunt," said Violet. "But he doesn't belong to the Wenningfords. He belongs to the Cedars, and is no other than Mr. Leicester Dodson, the tallow melter's son!"

      It is Saturday evening, and Mrs. Mildmay's little dinner is in progress.

      There are the vicar and his wife, Mr. and Mrs. Giles from the Ferns, and, wonderful to say, the Dodsons from the Cedars.

      Miss Violet had, as usual, had her way with her aristocratic aunt, and the Dodsons are here.

      For a whole day Mrs. Mildmay, with tears in her eyes, declared that she would not call at the Cedars; and it was not until Violet had, with greater firmness, vowed that she would go to the Cedars by herself rather than not at all, that the good old lady had given in.

      And СКАЧАТЬ