The Broad Highway - Jeffery Farnol (urban books to read .txt) 📗

So, with her long hair trailing over me, I bore her to the cottage. Closing the door behind me with my foot, I crossed the room, and set her down upon the bed.

She lay very still, but her bosom heaved tumultuously, and the tears still crept from beneath her lashes; but in a while she opened her eyes and looked at me, and shivered, and crouched farther from me, among the pillows.

“Why did you lie to me, Charmian; why did you lie to me?” She did not answer, only she watched me as one might watch some relentless, oncoming peril.

“I asked you once if you ever saw men hereabouts—when I was away, do you remember? You told me, ‘no,’ and, while you spoke, I knew you lied, for I had seen him standing among the leaves, waiting and watching for you. I once asked you if you were ever lonely when I was away, and you answered ‘no’,—you were too busy—‘seldom went beyond the Hollow’—do you remember? And yet —you had brought him here—here, into the cottage he had looked at my Virgil—over your shoulder—do you remember?”

“You played the spy!” she whispered with trembling lips, yet with eyes still fierce and scornful.

“You know I did not; had I seen him I should have killed him, because—I loved you. I had set up an altar to you in my heart, where my soul might worship—poor fool that I was! I loved you with every breath I drew. I think I must have shown you something of this, from time to time, for you are very clever, and you may have laughed over it together—you and he. And lately I have seen my altar foully desecrated, shattered, and utterly destroyed, and, with it, your sweet womanhood dragged in the mire, and yet—I loved you still. Can you imagine, I wonder, the agony of it, the haunting horrors of imagination, the bitter days, the sleepless nights? To see you so beautiful, so glorious, and know you so base! Indeed, I think it came near driving me mad. It has sent me out into the night; I have held out my arms for the lightning to blast me; I have wished myself a thousand deaths. If Black George had but struck a little harder —or a little lighter; I am not the man I was before he thrashed me; my head grows confused and clouded at times—would to God I were dead! But now—you would go! Having killed my heart, broken my life, driven away all peace of mind—you would leave me! No, Charmian, I swear by God you shall not go—yet awhile. I have bought you very dear—bought you with my bitter agony, and by all the blasting torments I have suffered.”

Now, as I ended, she sprang from the bed and faced me, but, meeting my look, she shrank a little, and drew her long hair about her like a mantle, then sought with trembling hands to hold me off.

“Peter—be sane. Oh, Peter! be merciful and let me go—give me time—let me explain.”

“My books,” said I, “have taught me that the more beautiful a woman’s face the more guileful is her heart; and your face is wonderfully beautiful, and, as for your heart—you lied to me before.”

“I—oh, Peter!—I am not the poor creature you think me.”

“Were you the proudest lady in the land—you have deceived me and mocked me and lied to me!” So saying, I reached out, and seized her by each rounded arm, and slowly drew her closer. And now she strove no more against me, only in her face was bitter scorn, and an anger that cast out fear.

“I hate you—despise you!” she whispered. “I hate you more than any man was ever hated!”

Inch by inch I drew her to me, until she stood close, within the circle of my arms.

“And I think I love you more than any woman was ever loved!” said I; “for the glorious beauty of your strong, sweet body, for the temptation of your eyes, for the red lure of your lips!” And so I stooped and kissed her full upon the mouth. She lay soft and warm in my embrace, all unresisting, only she shivered beneath my kiss, and a great sob rent her bosom.

“And I also think,” said I, “that, because of the perfidy of your heart, I hate you as much as you do me—as much as ever woman, dead or living, was hated by man and shall—forever!”

And, while I spoke, I loosed her and turned, and strode swiftly out and away from the cottage.

CHAPTER XXXIV

IN WHICH I FIND PEACE AND JOY AND AN ABIDING SORROW

I hurried on, looking neither to right nor left, seeing only the face of Charmian, now fearful and appealing, now blazing with scorn. And coming to the brook, I sat down, and thought upon her marvellous beauty, of the firm roundness of the arms that my fingers had so lately pressed. Anon I started up again, and plunged, knee-deep, through the brook, and strode on and on, bursting my way through bramble and briar, heedless of their petty stings, till at last I was clear of them, being now among trees. And here, where the shadow was deepest, I came upon a lurking figure—a figure I recognized—a figure there was no mistaking, and which I should have known in a thousand.

A shortish, broad-shouldered man, clad in a blue coat, who stood with his back towards me, looking down into the Hollow, in the attitude of one who waits—for what? for whom?

He was cut off from me by a solitary bush, a bramble, that seemed to have strayed from its kind and lost itself, and, running upon my toes, I cleared this bush at a bound, and, before the fellow had realized my presence, I had pinned him by the collar.

“Damn you!—show your face!” I cried, and swung him round so fiercely that he staggered, and his hat fell off.

Then, as I saw, I clasped my head between my hands, and fell back—staring.

A grizzled man with an honest, open face, a middle-aged man whose homely features were lighted by a pair of kindly blue eyes, just now round with astonishment.

“Lord!—Mr. Peter!” he exclaimed.

“Adam!” I groaned. “Oh, God forgive me, it’s Adam!”

“Lord! Mr. Peter,” said he again, “you sure give me a turn, Sir! But what’s the matter wi’ you, sir? Come, Mr. Peter, never stare so wild like—come, sir, what is it?”

“Tell me—quick!” said I, catching his hand in mine, “you have been here many times before of late?”

“Why—yes, Mr. Peter, but—”

“Quick!” said I; “on one occasion she took you into the cottage yonder and showed you a book—you looked at it over her shoulder?”

“Yes, sir—but—”

“What sort of book was it?”

“A old book, sir, wi’ the cover broke, and wi’ your name writ down inside of it; ‘twas that way as she found out who you was—”

“Oh, Adam!” I cried. “Oh, Adam! now may God help me!” And, dropping his hand, I turned and ran until I reached the cottage; but it was empty, Charmian was gone.

In a fever of haste I sought her along the brook, among the bushes and trees, even along the road. And, as I sought, night fell, and in the shadows was black despair.

I searched the Hollow from end to end, calling upon her name, but no sound reached me, save the hoot of an owl, and the far-off, dismal cry of a corncrake.

With some faint hope that she might have returned to the cottage, I hastened thither, but, finding it dark and desolate, I gave way to my despair.

O blind, self-deceiving fool! She had said that, and she was right—as usual. She had called me an egoist—I was an egoist, a pedant, a blind, self-deceiving fool who had wilfully destroyed all hopes of a happiness the very thought of which had so often set me trembling—and now—she had left me—was gone! The world —my world, was a void—its emptiness terrified me. How should I live without Charmian, the woman whose image was ever before my eyes, whose soft, low voice was ever in my ears?

And I had thought so much to please her! I who had set my thoughts to guard my tongue, lest by word or look I might offend her! And this was the end of it!

Sitting down at the table, I leaned my head there, pressing my forehead against the hard wood, and remained thus a great while.

At last, because it was very dark, I found and lighted a candle, and came and stood beside her bed. Very white and trim it looked, yet I was glad to see its smoothness rumpled where I had laid her down, and to see the depression in the pillow that her head had made. And, while I stood there, up to me stole a perfume very faint, like the breath of violets in a wood at evening time, wherefore I sank down upon my knees beside the bed.

And now the full knowledge of my madness rushed upon me in an overwhelming flood; but with misery was a great and mighty joy, for now I knew her worthy of all respect and honor and worship, for her intellect, for her proud virtue, and for her spotless purity. And thus, with joy came remorse, and with remorse—an abiding sorrow.

And gradually my arms crept about the pillow where her head had so often rested, wherefore I kissed it, and laid my head upon it and sighed, and so fell into a troubled sleep.

CHAPTER XXXV

HOW BLACK GEORGE FOUND PRUDENCE IN THE DAWN

The chill of dawn was in the air when I awoke, and it was some few moments before, with a rush, I remembered why I was kneeling there beside Charmian’s bed. Shivering, I rose and walked up and down to reduce the stiffness in my limbs.

The fire was out and I had no mind to light it, for I was in no mood to break my fast, though the necessary things stood ready, as her orderly hands had set them, and the plates and cups and saucers twinkled at me from the little cupboard I had made to hold them; a cupboard whose construction she had overlooked with a critical eye. And I must needs remember how she had insisted on being permitted to drive in three nails with her own hand—I could put my finger on those very nails; how she had tapped at those nails for fear of missing them; how beautiful she had looked in her coarse apron, and with her sleeves rolled up over her round white arms—how womanly and sweet; yet I had dared to think—had dared to call her—a Messalina! Oh, that my tongue had withered or ever I had coupled one so pure and noble with a creature so base and common!

So thinking, I sighed and went out into the dawn; as I closed the door behind me its hollow slam struck me sharply, and I called to mind how she had called it a bad and ill-fitting door. And indeed so it was.

With dejected step and hanging head I made my way towards Sissinghurst (for, since I was up, I might as well work, and there was much to be done), and, as I went, I heard a distant clock chime four.

Now, when I reached the village the sun