The Broad Highway - Jeffery Farnol (urban books to read .txt) đ
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And, all at once, I laughed, and tore the paper across, and laughed and laughed, till George and the Ancient came to stare at me.
âDonât âee!â cried the old man; âdonât âee, Peterâyou be like a corpâ laughinâ; donât âee!â But the laugh still shook me while I tore and tore at the paper, and so let the pieces drop and flutter from my fingers.
âThere!â said I, âthere goes a foolâs dream! See how it scattersâa little here, a little there; but, so long as this world lasts, these pieces shall never come together again.â So saying, I set off along the road, looking neither to right nor left. But, when I had gone some distance, I found that George walked beside me, and he was very silent as he walked, and I saw the trouble was back in his eyes again.
âGeorge,â said I, stopping, âwhy do you follow me?â
âI donât follow âee, Peter,â he answered; âI be only wishful to walk wiâ you a ways.â
âIâm in no mood for company, George.â
âWell, I beanât company, Peterâyour friend, I be,â he said doggedly, and without looking at me.
âYes,â said I; âyes, my good and trusty friend.â
âPeter,â he cried suddenly, laying his hand upon my shoulder, âdonât go back to that theer ghashly âOller to-nightââ
âIt is the only place in the world for meâto-night, George.â And so we went on again, side by side, through the evening, and spoke no more until we had come to the parting of the ways.
Down in the Hollow the shadows lay black and heavy, and I saw George shiver as he looked.
âGood-by!â said I, clasping his hand; âgood-by, George!â
âWhy do âee say good-by?â
âBecause I am going away.â
âGoinâ away, Peterâbut wheer?â
âGod knows!â I answered, âbut, wherever it be, I shall carry with me the memory of your kind, true heartâand you, I think, will remember me. It is a blessed thing, George, to know that, howso far we go, a friendâs kind thoughts journey on with us, untiring to the end.â
âOh, Peter, man! donât go for to leave meââ
âTo part is our human lot, George, and as well now as later âgood-by!â
âNo, no!â he cried, throwing his arm about me, ânot down theer âit be so deadly anâ lonely down theer in the darkness. Come back wiâ meâjust for to-night.â But I broke from his detaining hand, and plunged on down into the shadows. And, presently, turning my head, I saw him yet standing where I had left him, looming gigantic upon the sky behind, and with his head sunk upon his breast.
Being come at last to the cottage, I paused, and from that place of shadows lifted my gaze to the luminous heaven, where were a myriad eyes that seemed to watch me with a new meaning, to-night; wherefore I entered the cottage hastily, and, closing the door, barred it behind me. Then I turned to peer up at that which showed above the doorâthe rusty staple upon which a man had choked his life out sixty and six years ago. And I began, very slowly, to loosen the belcher neckerchief about my throat.
âPeter!â cried a voiceââPeter!â and a hand was beating upon the door.
CHAPTER XL
HOW, IN PLACE OF DEATH, I FOUND THE FULNESS OF LIFE
She came in swiftly, closing the door behind her, found and lighted a candle, and, setting it upon the table between us, put back the hood of her cloak, and looked at me, while I stood mute before her, abashed by the accusation of her eyes.
âCoward!â she said, and, with the word, snatched the neckerchief from my grasp, and, casting it upon the floor, set her foot upon it. âCoward!â said she again.
âYes,â I muttered; âyes, I was lostâin a great darkness, and full of a horror of coming rights and days, and soâI would have run away from it allâlike a cowardââ
âOh, hatefulâhateful!â she cried, and covered her face as from some horror.
âIndeed, you cannot despise me more than I do myself,â said I, ânow, or ever; I am a failure in all things, except, perhaps, the making of horseshoesâand this world has no place for failuresâand as for horseshoesââ
âFool,â she whispered. âOh, fool that I dreamed so wise! Oh, coward that seemed so brave and strong! Oh, man that was so gloriously young and unspoiled!âthat it should end hereâthat it should come to this.â And, though she kept her face hidden, I knew that she was weeping. âA womanâs love transforms the man till she sees him, not as he is, but as her heart would have him be; the dross becomes pure gold, and she believes and believes untilâone day her heart breaksââ
âCharmian!âwhatâwhat do you mean?â
âOh, are you still so blind? Must I tell you?â she cried, lifting her head proudly. âWhy did I live beside you here in the wilderness? Why did I work for you contrive for youâand seek to make this desolation a home for you? Often my heart cried out its secret to youâbut you never heard; often it trembled in my voice, looked at you from my eyesâbut you never guessedâOh, blind! blind! And you drove me from you with shameful words âbutâoh!âI came back to you. And nowâI know you for but common clay, after all, andâeven yetââ She stopped, suddenly, and once more hid her face from me in her hands.
âAndâeven yet, Charmian?â I whispered.
Very still she stood, with her face bowed upon her hands, but she could not hide from me the swift rise and fall of her bosom.
âSpeakâoh, Charmian, speak!â
âI am so weakâso weak!â she whispered; âI hate myself.â
âCharmian!â I cried ââoh, Charmian!â and seized her hands, and, despite her resistance, drew her into my arms, and, clasping her close, forced her to look at me. âAnd even yet?âwhat moreâwhat moreâtell me.â But, lying back across my arm, she held me off with both hands.
âDonât!â she cried; âdonâtâyou shame meâlet me go.â
âGod knows I am all unworthy, Charmian, and so low in my abasement that to touch you is presumption, but oh, woman whom I have loved from the first, and shall, to the end, have you stooped in your infinite mercy, to lift me from these depthsâis it a new life you offer me was it for this you came to-night?â
âLet me goâoh, Peter!âlet me go.â
âWhyâwhy did you come?â
âLoose me!â
âWhy did you come?â
âTo meetâSir Maurice Vibart.â
âTo meet Sir Maurice?â I repeated dullyââSir Maurice?â And in that moment she broke from me, and stood with her head thrown back, and her eyes very bright, as though defying me. But I remained where I was, my arms hanging.
âHe was to meet me hereâat nine oâclock.â
âOh, Charmian,â I whispered, âare all women so cruel as you, I wonder?â And, turning my back upon her, I leaned above the mantel, staring down at the long-dead ashes on the hearth.
But, standings there, I heard a footstep outside, and swung round with clenched fists, yet Charmian was quicker, and, as the door opened and Sir Maurice entered, she was between us.
He stood upon the threshold, dazzled a little by the light, but smiling, graceful, debonair, and point-device as ever. Indeed, his very presence seemed to make the mean room the meaner by contrast, and, as he bent to kiss her hand, I became acutely conscious of my own rough person, my worn and shabby clothes, and of my hands, coarsened and grimed by labor; wherefore my frown grew the blacker and I clenched my fists the tighter.
âI lost my way, Charmian,â he began, âbut, though late, I am none the less welcome, I trust? Ah?âyou frown, Cousin Peter? Quite a ghoulish spot this, at nightâyou probably find it most congenial, good cousin Timon of Athensâindeed, cousin, you are very like Timon of Athensââ And he laughed so that I, finding my pipe upon the mantelshelf, began to turn it aimlessly round and round in my twitching fingers.
âYou have already met, then?â inquired Charmian, glancing from one to the other of us.
âWe had that mutual pleasure nearly a week ago,â nodded Sir Maurice, âwhen we agreed toâdisagree, as we always have done, and shall doâwith the result that we find each other agreeably disagreeable.â
âI had hoped that you might be friends.â
âMy dear CharmianâI wonder at you!â he sighed, âso unreasonable. Would you have us contravene the established order of things? It was preordained that Cousin Peter should scowl at me (precisely as he is doing), and that I should shrug my shoulders, thus, at Cousin Peterâa little hate with, say, a dash of contempt, give a zest to that dish of conglomerate vapidity which we call Life, and make it almost palatable.
âBut I am not here on Cousin Peterâs account,â he went on, drawing a step nearer to her, âat this moment I heartily wish himâamong his hammers and chiselsâI have come for you, Charmian, because I love you. I have sought you patiently until I found youâand I will never forego you so long as life lasts âbut you know all this.â
âYes, I know all this.â
âI have been very patient, Charmian, submitting to your whims and fanciesâbut, through it all; I knew, and in your womanâs heart âyou knew, that you must yield at lastâthat the chase must end âsome day; wellâlet it be to-nightâmy chaise is waitingââ
âWhen I ran away from you, in the storm, Sir Maurice, I told you, once and for all, that I hated you. Have you forgotten?âhated you!âalways and ever! and tried toâkill youââ
âOh, Charmian! I have known such hate transfigured into love, before nowâsuch love as is only worth the winning. And you are mineâyou always wereâfrom the first moment that our eyes met. Come, my chaise is waiting; in a few hours we can be in London, or Doverââ
âNoânever!â
âNever is a long time, Charmianâbut I am at your serviceâwhat is your will?â
âI shall remainâhere.â
âHere? In the wilderness?â
âWith myâhusband.â
âYourâhusband?â
âI am going to marry your cousinâPeter Vibart.â
The pipe slipped from my fingers and shivered to pieces on the floor, and in that same fraction of time Sir Maurice had turned and leapt towards me; but as he came I struck him twice, with left and right, and he staggered backwards to the wall. He stood for a moment, with his head stooped upon his hands. When he looked up his face was dead white, and with a smear of blood upon it that seemed to accentuate its pallor; but his voice came smooth and unruffled as ever.
âThe Mind Feminine is given to change,â said he softly, âandâI shall returnâyes, I shall come back. Smile, madam! Triumph, cousin! But I shall come between you yetâI tell you, Iâll come between youâliving or dead!â
And so he turned, and was goneâinto the shadows.
But as for me, I sat down, and, leaning my chin in my hand, stared down at the broken fragments of my pipe.
âPeter?â
âYou are safe now,â said I, without looking up, âhe is goneâbut, oh, Charmian! was there no other wayâ?â
She was down beside me on her knees, had taken my hand,
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