LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

of poetical imagination, and took no further thought on the earthly realization of his formless desire, in more homely matters satisfying himself with his cousin.

      Cytherea appeared in the sky: his heart started up and spoke:

      ’Tis She, and here

       Lo! I unclothe and clear

       My wishes’ cloudy character.’

      Some women kindle emotion so rapidly in a man’s heart that the judgment cannot keep pace with its rise, and finds, on comprehending the situation, that faithfulness to the old love is already treachery to the new. Such women are not necessarily the greatest of their sex, but there are very few of them. Cytherea was one.

      On receiving the letter from her he had taken to thinking over these things, and had not answered it at all. But ‘hungry generations’ soon tread down the muser in a city. At length he thought of the strong necessity of living. After a dreary search, the negligence of which was ultimately overcome by mere conscientiousness, he obtained a situation as assistant to an architect in the neighbourhood of Charing Cross: the duties would not begin till after the lapse of a month.

      He could not at first decide whither he should go to spend the intervening time; but in the midst of his reasonings he found himself on the road homeward, impelled by a secret and unowned hope of getting a last glimpse of Cytherea there.

      5. Midnight

      It was a quarter to twelve when Manston drove into the station-yard. The train was punctual, and the bell, announcing its arrival, rang as he crossed the booking-office to go out upon the platform.

      The porter who had accompanied Mrs. Manston to Carriford, and had returned to the station on his night duty, recognized the steward as he entered, and immediately came towards him.

      ‘Mrs. Manston came by the nine o’clock train, sir,’ he said.

      The steward gave vent to an expression of vexation.

      ‘Her luggage is here, sir,’ the porter said.

      ‘Put it up behind me in the gig if it is not too much,’ said Manston.

      ‘Directly this train is in and gone, sir.’

      The man vanished and crossed the line to meet the entering train.

      ‘Where is that fire?’ Manston said to the booking-clerk.

      Before the clerk could speak, another man ran in and answered the question without having heard it.

      ‘Half Carriford is burnt down, or will be!’ he exclaimed. ‘You can’t see the flames from this station on account of the trees, but step on the bridge —’tis tremendous!’

      He also crossed the line to assist at the entry of the train, which came in the next minute.

      The steward stood in the office. One passenger alighted, gave up his ticket, and crossed the room in front of Manston: a young man with a black bag and umbrella in his hand. He passed out of the door, down the steps, and struck out into the darkness.

      ‘Who was that young man?’ said Manston, when the porter had returned. The young man, by a kind of magnetism, had drawn the steward’s thoughts after him.

      ‘He’s an architect.’

      ‘My own old profession. I could have sworn it by the cut of him,’ Manston murmured. ‘What’s his name?’ he said again.

      ‘Springrove — Farmer Springrove’s son, Edward.’

      ‘Farmer Springrove’s son, Edward,’ the steward repeated to himself, and considered a matter to which the words had painfully recalled his mind.

      The matter was Miss Aldclyffe’s mention of the young man as Cytherea’s lover, which, indeed, had scarcely ever been absent from his thoughts.

      ‘But for the existence of my wife that man might have been my rival,’ he pondered, following the porter, who had now come back to him, into the luggage-room. And whilst the man was carrying out and putting in one box, which was sufficiently portable for the gig, Manston still thought, as his eyes watched the process —

      ‘But for my wife, Springrove might have been my rival.’

      He examined the lamps of his gig, carefully laid out the reins, mounted the seat and drove along the turnpike-road towards Knapwater Park.

      The exact locality of the fire was plain to him as he neared home. He soon could hear the shout of men, the flapping of the flames, the crackling of burning wood, and could smell the smoke from the conflagration.

      Of a sudden, a few yards ahead, within the compass of the rays from the right-hand lamp, burst forward the figure of a man. Having been walking in darkness the newcomer raised his hands to his eyes, on approaching nearer, to screen them from the glare of the reflector.

      Manston saw that he was one of the villagers: a small farmer originally, who had drunk himself down to a day-labourer and reputed poacher.

      ‘Hoy!’ cried Manston, aloud, that the man might step aside out of the way.

      ‘Is that Mr. Manston?’ said the man.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Somebody ha’ come to Carriford: and the rest of it may concern you, sir.’

      ‘Well, well.’

      ‘Did you expect Mrs. Manston to-night, sir?’

      ‘Yes, unfortunately she’s come, I know, and asleep long before this time, I suppose.’

      The labourer leant his elbow upon the shaft of the gig and turned his face, pale and sweating from his late work at the fire, up to Manston’s.

      ‘Yes, she did come,’ he said. . . . ‘I beg pardon, sir, but I should be glad of — of —’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Glad of a trifle for bringen ye the news.’

      ‘Not a farthing! I didn’t want your news, I knew she was come.’

      ‘Won’t you give me a shillen, sir?’

      ‘Certainly not.’

      ‘Then will you lend me a shillen, sir? I be tired out, and don’t know what to do. If I don’t pay you back some day I’ll be d — d.’

      ‘The devil is so cheated that perdition isn’t worth a penny as a security.’

      ‘Oh!’

      ‘Let me go on,’ said Manston.

      ‘Thy wife is dead; that’s the rest o’ the news,’ said the labourer slowly. He waited for a reply; none came.

      ‘She went to the Three Tranters, because she couldn’t get into thy house, the burnen roof fell in upon her before she could be called up, and she’s a cinder, as thou’lt be some day.’

      ‘That will do, let me drive on,’ said the steward calmly.

      Expectation of a concussion may be so intense that its failure strikes the brain with more force than its fulfilment. The labourer sank back into the ditch. Such a Cushi could not realize the possibility of such an unmoved David as this.

      Manston drove hastily to the turning of the road, tied his horse, and ran on foot to the site of the fire.

      The stagnation caused by the awful accident had been passed through, and all hands were helping to remove from the remaining cottage what furniture they could lay hold of; the thatch of the roofs being already on fire. The Knapwater fire-engine had arrived on the spot, but it was small, and ineffectual. A group was collected round the rector, who in a coat which had become bespattered, scorched, and torn in his exertions, was directing on one hand the proceedings relative to the removal of goods into the church, and with the other was pointing out

Скачать книгу