The Broad Highway by Jeffery Farnol (ebook reader with highlight function TXT) đ
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âAh! she told you her name, then?â
âYes, she told me her name.â
âWell, cousin?â
âWell, sir?â We had both risen, and now fronted each other across the anvil, Sir Maurice debonair and smiling, while I stood frowning and gloomy.
âCome,â said I at last, âlet us understand each other once for all. You tell me that you have always looked upon me as your rival for our uncleâs good gracesâI never was. You have deceived yourself into believing that because I was his ward that alone augmented my chances of becoming the heir; it never did. He saw me as seldom as possible, and, if he ever troubled his head about either of us, it would seem that he favored you. I tell you I never was your rival in the past, and never shall be in the future.â
âMeaning, cousin?â
âMeaning, sir, in regard to either the legacy or the Lady Sophia Sefton. I was never fond enough of money, to marry for it. I have never seen this lady, nor do I propose to, thus, so far as I am concerned, you are free to win her and the fortune as soon as you will; I, as you see, prefer horseshoes.â
âAnd what,â said Sir Maurice, flicking a speck of soot from his cuff, and immediately looking at me again, âwhat of Charmian?â
âI donât know,â I answered, ânor should I be likely to tell you, if I did; wherever she may be she is safe, I trust, and beyond your reachââ
âNo,â he broke in, âshe will never be beyond my reach until she is deadâor I amâperhaps not even then, and I shall find her again, sooner or later, depend upon itâyes, you may depend upon that!â
âCousin Maurice,â said I, reaching out my hand to him, âwherever she may be, she is alone and unprotectedâpursue her no farther. Go back to London, marry your Lady Sefton, inherit your fortune, but leave Charmian Brown in peace.â
âAnd pray,â said he, frowning suddenly, âwhence this solicitude de on her behalf? What is she to youâthis Charmian Brown?â
âNothing,â I answered hurriedly, ânothing at all, God knowsânor ever can beââ Sir Maurice leaned suddenly forward, and, catching me by the shoulder, peered into my face.
âBy Heaven!â he exclaimed, âthe fellowâactually loves her!â
âWell?â said I, meeting his look, âwhy not? Yes, I love her.â A very fury of rage seemed suddenly to possess him, the languid, smiling gentleman became a devil with vicious eyes and evil, snarling mouth, whose fingers sank into my flesh as he swung me back and forth in a powerful grip.
âYou love her?âyou?âyou?â he panted.
âYes,â I answered, flinging him off so that he staggered; âyes âyes! Iâwho fought for her once, and am willingâmost willing, to do so again, now or at any other time, for, though I hold no hope of winning herâeverâyet I can serve her still, and protect her from the pollution of your presence,â and I clenched my fists.
He stood poised as though about to spring at me, and I saw his knuckles gleam whiter than the laces above them, but, all at once, he laughed lightly, easily as ever.
âA very perfect, gentle knight!â he murmured, âsans peur et sans reprocheâthough somewhat grimy and in a leather apron. Chivalry kneeling amid hammers and horseshoes, worshiping Her with a reverence distant and lowly! How like you, worthy cousin, how very like yon, and how affecting! Butââand here his nostrils quivered againââ but I tell youâshe is mineâmine, and always has been, and no man living shall come between usâno, by God!â
âThat,â said I, âthat remains to be seen!â
âHa?â
âThough, indeed, I think she is safe from you while I live.â
âBut then, Cousin Peter, life is a very uncertain thing at best,â he returned, glancing at me beneath his drooping lids.
âYes,â I nodded, âit is sometimes a blessing to remember that.â
Sir Maurice strolled to the door, and, being there, paused, and looked back over his shoulder.
âI go to find Charmian,â said he, âand I shall find herâsooner or later, and, when I do, should you take it upon yourself to âcome between us again, or presume to interfere again, I shall âkill you, worthy cousin, without the least compunction. If you think this sufficient warningâact upon it, if notââ He shrugged his shoulders significantly. âFarewell, good and worthy Cousin Peter, farewell!âor shall we sayââau revoirâ?â
CHAPTER XXXIX
HOW I WENT DOWN INTO THE SHADOWS
âPeter,â said George, one evening, turning to me with the troubled look I had seen so often on his face of late, âwhat be wrong wiâ you, my chap? You be growing paler everyday. Oh, Peter! you be like a man as is dyinâ by inchesâif âtis any oâ my doinâââ
âNonsense, George!â I broke in with sudden asperity, âI am well enough!â
âYet Iâve seen your âands fall a-trembling sometimes, Peterâall at once. Anâ you missed your stroke yesterdayâcome square down on thâ anvilâyou canât haâ forgot?â
âI remember,â I muttered; âI remember.â
âAnâ twice again to-day. Anâ you be silent, Peter, anâ donât seem to âear when spoke to, anâ short in your temperâoh, you beanât the man you was. Iâve see it a-cominâ on you more anâ more. Oh, man, Peter!â he cried, turning his back upon me suddenly, âyou as Iâd let walk over meâyou as Iâd be cut in pieces forâif it be me as done itââ
âNo, no, Georgeâit wasnât youâof course not. If I am a little strange it is probably due to lack of sleep, nothing more.â
âYe see, Peter, I tried so âard to kill âee, anâ you said yourself as I come nigh doinâ itââ
âBut then, you didnât quite manage it,â I cried harshlyââwould to God you had; as it is, I am alive, and thereâs an end of it.â
ââTwere a woundy blow I give âeeâthat last one! Iâll never forget the look oâ your face as you went down. Oh, Peter! youâve never been the same sinceâit be all my doinââI know it, I know it,â and, sinking upon the Ancientâs stool in the corner, Black George covered his face.
âNever think of it, George,â I said, laying my arm across his heaving shoulders; âthat is all over and done with, dear fellow, and I would not have it otherwise, since it gained me your friendship. I am all right, well and strong; it is only sleep that I need, George, only sleep.â
Upon the still evening air rose the sharp tap, tap of the Ancientâs stick, whereat up started the smith, and, coming to the forge, began raking out the fire with great dust and clatter, as the old man hobbled up, saluting us cheerily as he came.
âLord!â he exclaimed, pausing in the doorway to lean upon his stick and glance from one to the other of us with his quick, bright eyes. âLord! theer beanât two other such fine, up-standinâ, likely-lookinâ chaps in all the South Country as you two chaps beâno, nor such smiths! it du warm my old âeart to look at âee. Puts me in mind oâ what I were myselfâages anâ ages ago. I werenât quite so tall as Jarge, pârâaps, by aboutâsay âalf-a-inch, but then, I were widerâwider, ah! a sight wider in the shoulder, anâ so strong asâfour bulls! anâ wiâ eyes big anâ sharp anâ piercinââlike Peterâs, only Peterâs beanât quite so sharp, no, nor yet so piercinââanâ that minds me as Iâve got noos for âee, Peter.â
âWhat news?â said I, turning.
âSâprisinâ noos it beâah! anâ âstonishinâ tu. But first of all, Peter, I wants to ax âee a question.â
âWhat is it, Ancient?â
âWhy, it be this, Peter,â said the old man, hobbling nearer, and peering up into my face, âever since the time as I went anâ found ye, Iâve thought as theer was summâat strange about âee, what wiâ your soft voice anâ gentle ways; anâ it came on me all at once âabout three oâ the clockâs arternoon, as you might be a dook âin disguise, Peter. Come now, be ye a dook or beanât yeâyes or ne, Peter?â and he fixed me with his eye.
âNo, Ancient,â I answered, smiling; âIâm no duke.â
âAh well!âa earl, then?â
âNor an earl.â
âA barrynet, pârâaps?â
âNot even a baronet.â
âAh!â said the old man, eyeing me doubtfully, âIâve often thought as you might be one or tâ other of âem âspecially since âbout three oâ the clock âs arternoon.â
âWhy so?â
âWhy, thatâs the pâintâthatâs the very noos as Iâve got to tell âee,â chuckled the Ancient, as he seated himself in the corner. âYou must know, then,â he began, with an impressive rap on the lid of his snuffbox, ââbout three oâclock âs arternoon I were sittinâ on the stile by Simonâs five-acre field when along the road comes a lady, âanâsome anâ proud-looking, anâ as fine as fine could be, a-ridinâ of a âorse, anâ wiâ a servant ridinâ another âorse beâind âer. As she comes up she gives me a look out oâ âer eyes, soft they was, anâ dark, anâ up I gets to touch my âat. All at once she smiles at me, anâ âer smile were as sweet anâ gentle as âer eyes; anâ she pulls up âer âorse. âWây, you must be the Ancient!â says she. âWây, so Peter calls me, my leddy,â says I. âAnâ âow is Peter?â she says, quick-like; ââow is Peter?â says she. âFine anâ âearty,â says I; âeats well anâ sleeps sound,â says I; ââis arms is strong anâ âis legs is strong, anâ âe arenât afeared oâ nobodyâlike a young lion be Peter,â says I. Now, while Iâm a-sayinâ this, she looks at me, soft anâ thoughtful-like, anâ takes out a little book anâ begins to write in it, a-wrinklinâ âer pretty black brows over it anâ a-shakinâ âer âead to âerself. Anâ presently she tears out what sheâs been a-writinâ anâ gives it to me. âWill you give this to Peter for me?â says she. âThat I will, my leddy!â says I. âThank âee!â says she, smilinâ again, anâ âoldinâ out âer wâite âanâ to me, which I kisses. âIndeed!â says she,â I understand now why Peter is so fond of you. I think I could be very fond of âee tu!â says she. Anâ so she turns âer âorse, anâ the servant âe turns âis anâ off they go; anâ âere, Peterââere be the letter.â Saying which, the Ancient took a slip of paper from the cavernous interior of his hat and tendered it to me.
With my head in a whirl, I crossed to the door, and leaned there awhile, staring sightlessly out into the summer evening; for it seemed that in this little slip of paper lay that which meant life or death to me; so, for a long minute I leaned there, fearing to learn my fate. Then I opened the little folded square of paper, and, holding it before my eyes, read:
âCharmian Brown presentsâ (This scratched out.) âWhile you busied yourself forging horseshoes your cousin, Sir Maurice, sought and found me. I do not love him, butâ CHARMIAN.
âFarewellâ (This also scored out.)
Again I stared before me with unseeing eyes, but my hands no longer trembled, nor did I fear
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