The Broad Highway - Jeffery Farnol (urban books to read .txt) đ
- Author: Jeffery Farnol
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âYou?â he whispered, âyou? Oh, Peter!âoh, my boy!â
âBut I am innocentâinnocentâyou believe meâyou who were my earliest friendâmy good, kind friendâyou believe me?â and I stretched out my hands appealingly, but, as I did so, the light fell gleaming upon my shameful wristlets; and, even as we gazed into each otherâs eyes, mute and breathless, came the sound of steps and hushed voices. Sir Richard sprang forward, and, catching me in a powerful hand, half led, half dragged me behind a tall leather screen beside the hearth, and thrusting me into a chair, turned and hurried to meet the intruders.
They were three, as I soon discovered by their voices, one of which I thought I recognized.
âItâs a devilish shame!â the first was saying; ânot a soul here for the funeral but our four selvesâI say itâs a shameâa burning shame!â
âThat, sir, depends entirely on the point of view,â answered the second, a somewhat aggressive voice, and this it was I seemed to recognize.
âPoint of view, sir? Where, I should like to know, are all those smiling nonentitiesâthose fawning sycophants who were once so proud of his patronage, who openly modelled themselves upon him, whose highest ambition was to be called a friend of the famous âBuckâ Vibart where are they now?â
âDoing the same by the present favorite, as is the nature of their kind,â responded the third; âpoor Maurice is already forgotten.â
âThe Prince,â said the harsh voice, âthe Prince would never have forgiven him for crossing him in the affair of the Lady Sophia Sefton; the day he ran off with her he was as surely deadâin a social senseâas he is now in every sense.â
Here the mist settled down upon my brain once more, and I heard nothing but a confused murmur of voices, and it seemed to me that I was back on the road again, hemmed in by those gibbering phantoms that spoke so much, and yet said but one word: âMurder.â
âQuickâa candle hereâa candleâbring a lightââ There came a glare before my smarting eyes, and I struggled up to my feet.
âWhyâI have seen this fellowâs face somewhereâah!âyes, at an innâa hang-dog rogueâI threatened to pull his nose, I remember, andâby Heaven He has been roughly handled, too! Gentlemen, Iâll lay my life the murderer is foundâthough how he should come here of all placesâextraordinary. Sir Richardâyou and I, as magistratesâdutyââ But the mist was very thick, and the voices grew confused again; only I knew that hands were upon me, that I was led into another room, where were lights that glittered upon the silver, the decanters and glasses of a supper table.
âYes,â I was saying, slowly and heavily; âyes, I am Peter Smith âa blacksmithâwho escaped from his gaolers on the Tonbridge Roadâbut I am innocentâbefore GodâI am innocent. And nowâdo with me as you willâfor I amâvery wearyââ
Sir Richardâs arm was about me, and his voice sounded in my ears, but as though a great way off:
âSirs,â said he, âthis is my friendâSir Peter Vibart.â There was a momentâs pause, thenâa chair fell with a crash, and there rose a confusion of excited voices which grew suddenly silent, for the door had opened, and on the threshold stood a woman, tall and proud and richly dressed, from the little dusty boot that peeped beneath her habit to the wide-sweeping hat-brim that shaded the high beauty of her face. And I would have gone to her but that my strength failed me.
âCharmian!â
She started, and, turning, uttered a cry, and ran to me.
âCharmian,â said I; âoh, Charmian!â And so, with her tender arms about me, and her kisses on my lips, the mist settled down upon me, thicker and darker than ever.
CHAPTER XLVII
IN WHICH THIS HISTORY IS ENDED
A bright room, luxuriously appointed; a great wide bed with carved posts and embroidered canopy; between the curtained windows, a tall oak press with grotesque heads carved thereon, heads that leered and gaped and scowled at me. But the bed and the room and the oak press were all familiar, and the grotesque heads had leered and gaped and frowned at me before, and haunted my boyish dreams many and many a night.
And now I lay between sleeping and waking, staring dreamily at all these things, till roused by a voice near by, and starting up, broad awake, beheld Sir Richard.
âDeuce take you, Peter!â he exclaimed; âI sayâthe devil fly away with you, my boy!âcurse me!âa nice pickle youâve made of yourself, with your infernal Revolutionary notionsâyour digging and blacksmithing, your walking-toursââ
âWhere is she, Sir Richard?â I broke in; âpray, where is she?â
âShe?â he returned, scratching his chin with the corner of a letter he held; âshe?â
âShe whom I saw last nightââ
âYou were asleep last night, and the night before.â
âAsleep?âthen how long have I been here?â
âThree days, Peter.â
âAnd where is sheâsurely I have not dreamed it allâwhere is Charmian?â
âShe went awayâthis morning.â
âGone!âwhere to?â
âGad, Peter!âhow should I know?â But, seeing the distress in my face, he smiled, and tendered me the letter. âShe left this âFor Peter, when he awokeââand Iâve been waiting for Peter to wake all the morning.â
Hastily I broke the seal, and, unfolding the paper with tremulous hands read:
âDEAREST, NOBLEST, AND MOST DISBELIEVING OF PETERS, âOh, did you think you could hide your hateful suspicion from meâfrom me who know you so well? I felt it in your kiss, in the touch of your strong hand, I saw it in your eyes. Even when I told you the truth, and begged you to believe me, even then, deep down in your heart you thought it was my hand that had killed Sir Maurice, and God only knows the despair that filled me as I turned and left you.
âAnd so, Peterâperhaps to punish you a little, perhaps because I cannot bear the noisy world just yet, perhaps because I fear you a littleâI have run away. But I remember also how, believing me guilty, you loved me still, and gave yourself up, to shield me, and, dying of hunger and fatigueâcame to find me. And so, Peter, I have not run so very far, nor hidden myself so very close, and if you understand me as you should your search need not be so very long. And dear, dear Peter, there is just one other thing, which I hoped that you would guess, which any other would have guessed, but which, being a philosopher, you never did guess. Oh, PeterâI was once, very long ago it seems, Sophia Charmian Sefton, but I am now, and always was, Your Humble Person,
âCHARMIAN.â
The letter fell from my fingers, and I remained staring before me so long that Sir Richard came and laid his hand on my shoulder.
âOh, boy!â said he, very tenderly; âshe has told me all the story, and I think, Peter, I think it is given to very few men to win the love of such a woman as this.â
âGod knows it!â said I.
âAnd to have married one so very noble and high in all things âyou should be very proud, Peter.â
âI am,â said I; âoh, I am, sir.â
âEven, Peterâeven though she be aâvirago, this Lady Sophiaâor a termagantââ
âI was a great fool in those days,â said I, hanging my head, âand very young!â
âIt was only six months ago, Peter.â
âBut I am years older today, sir.â
âAnd the husband of the most glorious womanâthe mostâoh, curse me, Peter, if you deserve such a goddess!â
âAndâshe worked for me!â said I; âcooked and served and mended my clothesâwhere are they?â I cried, and sprang out of bed.
âWhat the deuceââbegan Sir Richard.
âMy clothes,â said I, looking vainly about; âmy clothesâpray, Sir Richard, where are they?â
âBurnt, Peter.â
âBurnt?â
âEvery blood-stained rag!â he nodded; âher orders.â
âButâwhat am I to do?â
Sir Richard laughed, and, crossing to the press, opened the door.
âHere are all the things you left behind you when you set out toâdig, andâegad!âmake your fortune. I couldnât let âem go with all the restâso Iâerâhad âem brought here, toâerâto keep them for youâready for the time when you should grow tired of digging, and come back to me, andâerâoh, dammit!âyou understandâand Graingerâs waiting to see you in the library âbeen there hoursâso dress yourself. In Heavenâs name, dress yourself!â he cried, and hurried from the room.
It was with a certain satisfaction that I once more donned buckskin and spurred boots, and noticed moreover how tight my coat was become across the shoulders; yet I dressed hastily, for my mind was already on the road, galloping to Charmian.
In the library I found Sir Richard, and Mr. Grainger, who greeted me with his precise little bow.
âI have to congratulate you, Sir Peter,â he began, ânot only on your distinguished marriage, and accession to fortune, but upon the fact that theâahâunpleasantness connecting a certain Peter Smith with your unfortunate cousinâs late decease has been entirely removed by means of the murdererâs written confession, placed in my hands some days ago by the Lady Sophia.â
âA written confessionâand she brought it to you?â
âGalloped all the way from Tonbridge, by Gad!â nodded Sir Richard.
âIt seems,â pursued Mr. Grainger, âthat theâah man, John Strickland, by name, lodged with a certain preacher, to whom, in Lady Vibartâs presence, he confessed his crime, and willingly wrote out a deposition to that effect. It also appears that the man, sick though he was, wandered from the Preacherâs cottage, and was eventually found upon the road, and now lies in Maidstone gaol, in a dying condition.â
Chancing, presently, to look from the window, I beheld a groom who led a horse up and down before the door; and the groom was Adam, and the horseâ
I opened the window, and, leaning out, called a name. At the sound of my voice the man smiled and touched his hat, and the mare ceased her pawing and chafing, and turned upon me a pair of great, soft eyes, and snuffed the air, and whinnied. So I leapt out of the window, and down the steps, and thus it was that I met âWings.â
âShe be in the pink oâ condition, sir,â said Adam proudly; âSir Richard bought âerââ
âFor a song!â added the baronet, who, with Mr. Grainger, had followed to bid me good-by. âI really got her remarkably cheap,â he explained, thrusting his fists deep into his pockets, and frowning down my thanks. But, when I had swung myself into the saddle, he came and laid his hand upon my knee.
âYou are going toâfind her, Peter?â
âYes, sir.â
âAnd you knowâwhere to look?â
âI think soââ
âBecause, if you donâtâI mightââ
âI shall go to a certain cottage,â said I tentatively.
âThen youâd better go, boyâthe mareâs all excitementâgood-by, Peterâand cutting up my gravel most damnablyâgood-by!â So saying, he reached up and gripped my hand very hard, and stared at me also very hard, though the tears stood in his eyes. âI always felt very fatherly towards you, Peterâandâyou wonât forget the lonely old manâcome and see me now and then both of you, for it does get damnably lonely here sometimes, and
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