Mehalah. Baring-Gould Sabine

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter 6 Black or Gold

       Table of Contents

      WHEN De Witt drove up to the "City" with Phoebe Musset, the first person he saw on the beach was the last person that, under present circumstances, he wished to see � Mehalah Sharland. Phoebe perceived her at once, and rejoiced at the opportunity that offered to profit by it.

      Phoebe Musset intended some day to marry. She would have liked a well-to-do young farmer, but there happened to be no man of this kind available. There were, indeed, at Peldon four bachelor brothers of the name of Marriage, but they were grown grey in celibacy and not disposed to change their lot. One of the principal Mersea farmers was named Wise, and had a son of age, but he was an idiot. The rest were afflicted with only daughters � afflicted from Phoebe's point of view, blessed from their own. There was a widower, but to take a widower was like buying a broken-kneed horse.

      George was comfortably off. He owned some oyster pans and gardens, and had a fishing smack.

      But he was not a catch. There were, however, no catches to be angled, trawled or dredged for.

      As she approached the "City," she saw Glory surrounded by young boatmen, eager to get a word from her lips or a glance from her eyes. Phoebe's heart swelled with triumph at the thought that it lay in her power to wound her rival and exhibit her own superiority, before the eyes of all assembled on the beach.

      De Witt descended and helped her to alight, then made his way to Mehalah. Glory put out both hands to him and smiled. Her smile, which was rare, was sweet; it lighted up and transformed a face somewhat stern and dark.

      "Where have you been, George?"

      "I have been driving that girl yonder, what's-her-name, to Waldegraves."

      "What, Phoebe Musset? I did not know you could drive."

      "I can do more than row a boat and catch crabs, Glory."

      "What induced you to drive her?"

      "I was driven into doing so. You see, Glory, a fellow is not always his own master. Circumstances are sometimes stronger than his best purposes, and like a mass of seaweed arrest his oar and perhaps upset his boat."

      "Why, bless the boy!" exclaimed Mehalah, "What are all these excuses for? I am not jealous."

      "But I am," said Phoebe. "You have forgotten your promise."

      "What promise?"

      "To show me the hull in which you and your mother live, the Pandora I think you call her."

      "Did I promise?"

      "Yes you did, when we were together at the Decoy under the willows. I told you I wished greatly to be introduced to the interior and see how you lived." Turning to Mehalah, "George and I have been to the Decoy. He was most good-natured, and explained the whole contrivance to me, and � illustrated it. We had a very pleasant little trot together, had we not, George?"

      "Oh! This is what's-her-name, is it?" said Mehalah with an amused look. She was neither angry nor jealous. She despised Phoebe too heartily to be either, though she perceived what the girl was about, and saw through all her affectation.

      "If I made the promise, I must keep it," said George, "but it is strange I should not remember having made it."

      "I dare say you forget a great many things that were said and done at the Decoy, but," with a little affected sigh, "I do not, and I never shall, I fear."

      George De Witt looked uncomfortable and awkward. "Will not another day do as well?"

      "No, it will not, George," said Phoebe petulantly.

      De Witt turned to Mehalah, and said, "Come along with us Glory! My mother will be glad to see you."

      "Oh! don't trouble yourself, Miss Sharland � or Master Sharland, which is it?" � staring first at the short petticoats, and then at the cap and jersey.

      "Come, Glory," repeated De Witt, and looked so uncomfortable that Mehalah readily complied with his request.

      "I can give you oysters and ale, natives, you have never tasted better."

      "No ale for me, George," said Phoebe. "It is getting on for five o'clock when I take a dish of tea."

      "Tea!" echoed De Witt, "I have no such dainty on board. I can give you rum or brandy, if you prefer either to ale. Mother always has a glass of grog about this time; the cockles of her heart require it, she says."

      "You must give me your arm, George; you know I have sprained my ankle."

      De СКАЧАТЬ