The Missioner. E. Phillips Oppenheim
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Название: The Missioner
Автор: E. Phillips Oppenheim
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Языкознание
isbn: 4057664564559
isbn:
“What is it, Johnson?” she asked.
The man touched his hat.
“The ’osses shied, madam, at the light in the trees there. Enough to frighten ’em, too.”
Her eyes followed his pointing finger. A few yards back from the roadside, a small, steady light was burning amongst the trees.
“What is it?” she asked quickly.
“I can’t say, madam,” the man answered. “It looks like a lantern or a candle, or something of that sort.”
“There is no cottage there?” she asked.
The man shook his head.
“There’s none nearer than the first lodge, madam,” he answered. “There’s a bit of a shelter there—Higgs, the keeper, built it for a watchman.”
“Can I take care of the horses for a moment, while you go and see what it is?” she asked.
“They take a bit of holding, madam,” the man answered doubtfully. “We got your message so late at the stables, or I should have had a second man.”
Wilhelmina stepped softly out into the road.
“I will go myself,” she said. “I daresay it is nothing. If I call, though, you must leave the horses and come to me.”
She opened the gate, and raising her skirts with both hands, stepped into the plantation. Her small, white-shod feet fell noiselessly upon the thick undergrowth; she reached the entrance of the shelter without making any sound. Cautiously she peeped in. Her eyes grew round with surprise, her bosom began rapidly to rise and fall. It was Macheson who lay there, fast asleep! He had fallen asleep evidently whilst reading. A book was lying by his side, and a covered lantern was burning by his left shoulder. He was dressed in trousers and shirt; the latter was open at the throat, showing its outline firm and white, and his regular breathing. She drew a step nearer, and leaned over him. Curiously enough, in sleep the boyishness of his face was less apparent. The straight, firm mouth, rigidly closed, was the mouth of a man; his limbs, in repose, seemed heavy, even massive, especially the bare arm upon which his head was resting. His shirt was old, but spotlessly clean; his socks were neatly darned in many places. He occupied nearly the whole of the shelter, in fact one foot was protruding through the opening. In the corner a looking-glass was hanging from a stick, and a few simple toilet articles were spread upon the ground.
She bent more closely over him, holding her breath, although he showed no signs of waking. Her senses were in confusion, and there was a mist before her eyes. An unaccountable impulse was urging her on, driving her, as it seemed, into incredible folly. Lower and lower she bent, till her hot breath fell almost upon his cheek. Suddenly he stirred. She started back. After all he did not open his eyes, but the moment was gone. She moved backwards towards the opening. She was seized now with sudden fright. She desired to escape. She was breathless with fear, the fear of what she might not have escaped. Yet in the midst of it, with hot trembling fingers she loosened the roses from her dress and dropped them by his side. Then she fled into the semi-darkness.
The habits of a lifetime die hard. They are proof, as a rule, against these fits of temporary madness.
Wilhelmina stepped languidly into her carriage, and commanded her coachman’s attention.
“Johnson,” she said, “I found a poor man sleeping there. There is no necessity for him to be disturbed. It is my wish that you do not mention the occurrence to any one—to any one at all. You understand?”
The man touched his hat. He would have been dull-witted, indeed, if he had not appreciated the note of finality in his mistress’ tone. His horses sprang forward, and a few minutes later turned into the dark avenue which led to the house.
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