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Shirley
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"Well, Martin," she said eagerly, "how is he?"
"It is queer how she thinks of him," reflected Martin. "The blinding snow and bitter cold are nothing to her, I believe; yet she is but a 'chitty-faced creature,' as my mother would say. I could find in my heart to wish I had a cloak to wrap her in."
Thus meditating to himself, he neglected to answer Miss Helstone.
"You have seen him?"
"No."
"Oh! you promised you would."
"I mean to do better by you than that. Didn't I say I don't care to see him?"
"But now it will be so long before I get to know any thing certain about him, and I am sick of waiting. Martin, do see him, and give him Caroline Helstone's regards, and say she wished to know how he was, and if anything could be done for his comfort."
"I won't."
"You are changed. You were so friendly last night."
"Come, we must not stand in this wood; it is too cold."
"But before I go promise me to come again to-morrow with news."
"No such thing. I am much too delicate to make and keep such appointments in the winter season. If you knew what a pain I had in my chest this morning, and how I went without breakfast, and was knocked down besides, you'd feel the impropriety of bringing me here in the snow. Come, I say."
"Are you really delicate, Martin?"
"Don't I look so?"
"You have rosy cheeks."
"That's hectic. Will you come – or you won't?"
"Where?"
"With me. I was a fool not to bring a cloak. I would have made you cosy."
"You are going home; my nearest road lies in the opposite direction."
"Put your arm through mine; I'll take care of you."
"But the wall – the hedge – it is such hard work climbing, and you are too slender and young to help me without hurting yourself."
"You shall go through the gate."
"But – "
"But, but – will you trust me or not?"
She looked into his face.
"I think I will. Anything rather than return as anxious as I came."
"I can't answer for that. This, however, I promise you: be ruled by me, and you shall see Moore yourself."
"See him myself?"
"Yourself."
"But, dear Martin, does he know?"
"Ah! I'm dear now. No, he doesn't know."
"And your mother and the others?"
"All is right."
Caroline fell into a long, silent fit of musing, but still she walked on with her guide. They came in sight of Briarmains.
"Have you made up your mind?" he asked.
She was silent.
"Decide; we are just on the spot. I won't see him – that I tell you – except to announce your arrival."
"Martin, you are a strange boy, and this is a strange step; but all I feel is and has been, for a long time, strange. I will see him."
"Having said that, you will neither hesitate nor retract?"
"No."
"Here we are, then. Do not be afraid of passing the parlour window; no one will see you. My father and Matthew are at the mill, Mark is at school, the servants are in the back kitchen, Miss Moore is at the cottage, my mother in her bed, and Mrs. Horsfall in paradise. Observe – I need not ring. I open the door; the hall is empty, the staircase quiet; so is the gallery. The whole house and all its inhabitants are under a spell, which I will not break till you are gone."
"Martin, I trust you."
"You never said a better word. Let me take your shawl. I will shake off the snow and dry it for you. You are cold and wet. Never mind; there is a fire upstairs. Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Follow me."
He left his shoes on the mat, mounted the stair unshod. Caroline stole after, with noiseless step. There was a gallery, and there was a passage; at the end of that passage Martin paused before a door and tapped. He had to tap twice – thrice. A voice, known to one listener, at last said, "Come in."
The boy entered briskly.
"Mr. Moore, a lady called to inquire after you. None of the women were about. It is washing-day, and the maids are over the crown of the head in soap-suds in the back kitchen, so I asked her to step up."
"Up here, sir?"
Последний отзыв
Это скорее приключение, чем история. Но читать приятно.