Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands by R. M. Ballantyne (the reading list .txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Floating Light of the Goodwin Sands by R. M. Ballantyne (the reading list .txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
The boy obeyed with alacrity, and made no objection to a cup of tea and slice of bread and butter which Nora placed before him—supper being just then in progress.
“You’d better get aboard as soon as may be,” said Jones to Jim Welton somewhat sternly. “I didn’t expect you to leave the sloop tonight.”
“And I didn’t intend to leave her,” replied Jim, taking no notice of the tone in which this was said; “but I thought I’d come up to ask if you wished me to begin dischargin’ early to-morrow morning.”
“No, we’re not going to discharge,” returned Jones.
“Not going to discharge!” echoed Jim in surprise. “No. I find that it’s not worth while discharging any part of the cargo here. On the contrary, I mean to fill up with bloaters and run over with them to the coast of France; so you can go and stow the top tier of casks more firmly, and get ready for the noo ones. Good-night.”
The tone in which this was said left no excuse for Jim to linger, so he bade the household good-night and departed.
He had not gone far, however, when he was arrested by the sound of a light footstep. It was that of Nora, who had followed him.
“Nora!” exclaimed the young sailor in surprise, returning quickly and taking one of the girl’s hands in both of his.
“Oh, Jim!” said Nora, with a look and tone of earnest entreaty, “don’t, don’t forsake him just now—if the love which you have so often professed for me be true, don’t forsake him, I beseech you.”
Jim protested in the most emphatic terms that he had no intention of forsaking anybody, and made a great many more protestations, in the midst of which there were numerous ardent and more or less appropriate references to hearts that never deserted their colours, sheet-anchors that held on through thick and thin, and needles that pointed, without the smallest shadow of variation, to the pole.
“But what makes you think I’m going to leave him?” he asked, at the end of one of those flights.
“Because he is so rough to ’ee, Jim,” replied the girl, leaning her head on her lover’s shoulder; “he spoke so gruff even now, and I thought you went away huffed. Oh, Jim, you are the only one that has any influence over him—”
“Not the only one,” returned Jim, quietly smoothing the fair girl’s hair with his hard strong hand.
“Well, the only man, at any rate,” continued Nora, “especially when he is overcome with that dreadful drink. Dear Jim, you won’t forsake him, will you, even though he should insult, even though he should strike you?”
“No, never! Because he is your father, Nora, I’ll stick by him in spite of all he can say or do to me, and try, God helping me, to save him. But I cannot stick by him if—”
“If what?” asked the girl anxiously, observing that he hesitated.
“If he does anything against the laws,” said Jim in a low voice. “It isn’t that I’m afraid of my good name—I’d even let that go, for your sake, if by so doing I could get him out of mischief; and as long as I know nothing against him for certain, I’ll stand by him. But if he does fall, and I come to know it, I must leave him, Nora, because I won’t be art and part in it. I could no longer go on my knees to pray for him if I did that, Nora. Moreover, if anything o’ that sort should happen, I must leave the country, because he’d be sure to be caught and tried, and I will never stand witness against your father if I can avoid it by fair means.”
Poor Nora hung her head as she asked in a low voice if Jim really thought her father was engaged in illegal practices.
“I can’t say that I do,” replied the youth earnestly. “Come, cheer up, dearest Nora. After all, it is chiefly through reports that my suspicions have been aroused, and we all know how easy it is for an enemy to raise an evil report. But, Nora, I wish you had not bound me to secrecy as to my reason for sticking by your father. Why should I not say boldly that it’s all for love of you?”
“Why should you wish to give any reason at all, Jim, and above all, that reason?” asked Nora, looking up with a blush.
“Because,” said the youth, with a perplexed look, “my secrecy about the matter has puzzled my father to such an extent that his confidence in me is entirely shaken. I have been all my life accustomed to open all my heart to him, and now, without rhyme or reason, as he thinks, I have suddenly gone right round on the other tack, and at the same time, as he says, I have taken up with doubtful company. Now, if—”
The sound of approaching footsteps here brought the interview to an abrupt close. Nora ran back to her poor home, and Jim Welton, directing his steps towards the harbour, returned on board the little sloop which had been named after the girl of his heart.
Returning, now, to the moon-struck and Katie-smitten Queeker, we find that poetic individual walking disconsolately in front of Mr George Durant’s mansion.
In a previous chapter it has been said that, after composing his celebrated lines to the lantern of the floating light, he resolved to drop in upon the Durants about tea-time—and well did Queeker know their tea-time, although, every time he went there uninvited, the miserable hypocrite expressed surprise at finding them engaged with that meal, and said he had supposed they must have finished tea by that time!
But, on arriving at the corner of the street, his fluttering heart failed him. The thought of the cousin was a stumbling-block which he could not surmount. He had never met her before; he feared that she might be witty, or sarcastic, or sharp in some way or other, and would certainly make game of him in the presence of Katie. He had observed this cousin narrowly at the singing-class, and had been much impressed with her appearance; but whether this impression was favourable or unfavourable was to him, in the then confused state of his feelings, a matter of great uncertainty. Now that he was about to face her, he felt convinced that she must be a cynic, who would poison the mind of Katie against him, and no power within his unfortunate body was capable of inducing him to advance and raise the knocker.
Thus he hung in torments of suspense until nine o’clock, when—in a fit of desperation, he rushed madly at the door and committed himself by hitting it with his fist.
His equanimity was not restored by its being opened by Mr Durant himself.
“Queeker!” exclaimed the old gentleman in surprise; “come in, my dear sir; did you stumble against the door? I hope you haven’t hurt yourself?”
“Not at all—a—no, not at all; the fact is, I ran up the steps rather hastily, and—how do you do, Miss Durant? I hope you are quite well?”
Poor Queeker said this and shook hands with as much earnestness as if he had not seen Katie for five years.
“Quite well, thank you. My cousin, Fanny Hennings—Mr Queeker.”
Fanny bowed and Mr Queeker bowed, and, with a flushed countenance, asked her about the state of her health with unnatural anxiety.
“Thank you, Mr Squeeker, I am very well,” replied Fanny.
The unhappy youth would have corrected her in regard to his name, but hesitated and missed the opportunity, and when, shortly afterwards, while engaged in conversation with Mr Durant, he observed Fanny giggling violently in a corner by herself, he felt assured that Katie had kindly made the correction for him.
The announcement of supper relieved him slightly, and he was beginning to calm down over a piece of bread and cheese when the door-bell rang. Immediately after a heavy foot was heard in the passage, the parlour door was flung open, the maid announced Mr Hall, and a tall elegant young man entered the room. His figure was slender, but his chest was deep and his shoulders were broad and square. An incipient moustache of fair hair floated like a summer cloud on his upper lip, which expanded with a hearty smile as he advanced towards Mr Durant and held out his hand.
“You have forgotten me, I fear,” he said.
“Forgotten you!” exclaimed the old gentleman, starting up and seizing the young man’s hand, which he shook violently—“forgotten Stanley Hall—little Stanney, as I used to call you? Man, how you are grown, to be sure. What a wonderful change!”
“For the worse, I fear!” exclaimed the youth, laughing.
“Come, no fishing for compliments, sir. Let me introduce you to my daughter Katie, my niece Fanny Hennings, and my young friend Queeker. Now, then, sit down, and make yourself at home; you’re just in time; we’ve only just begun; ring the bell for another plate, Katie. How glad I am to see you, Stanney, my boy—I can’t call you by any other than the old name, you see. How did you leave your father, and what brings you here? Come, out with it all at once. I declare you have quite excited me.”
Well was it for poor Queeker that every one was too much occupied with the newcomer to pay any attention to him, for he could not prevent his visage from betraying something of the feelings which harrowed up his soul. The moment he set eyes on Stanley Hall, mortal jealousy—keen, rampant, virulent jealousy of the worst type—penetrated every fibre of his being, and turned his heart to stone! We cannot afford space to detail the various shades of agony, the degrees of despair, through which this unfortunate young man passed during that evening. A thick volume would not suffice to contain it all. Language is powerless to express it. Only those who have similarly suffered can conceive it.
Of course, we need scarcely add that there was no occasion for jealousy. Nothing was further from the mind of Stanley than the idea of falling in love with Katie. Nevertheless, politeness required that he should address himself to her occasionally. At such times, Queeker’s soul was stabbed in an unutterable manner. He managed to command himself, notwithstanding. To his credit, be it said, that he refrained from using the carving-knife. He even joined with some show of interest (of course hypocritical) in the conversation.
Stanley Hall was not only good-looking, but good-humoured, and full of quiet fun and anecdote, so that he quickly ingratiated himself with all the members of the family.
“D’you know it makes me feel young again to hear these old stories about your father’s college-life,” said Mr Durant. “Have some more cheese, Stanney—you look like a man who ought to have a good appetite—fill your glass and pass the bottle—thanks. Now, how comes it that you have turned up in this out-of-the-way part of the world? By-the-bye, I hope you intend to stay some time, and that you will take up your quarters with me? You can’t imagine how much pleasure it would give me to have the son of my old companion as a guest for some time. I’m sure that Katie joins me heartily in this hope.”
Queeker’s spirit sank with horror, and when Katie smilingly seconded her father’s proposal, his heart stood still with dismay. Fanny Hennings, who had begun to suspect that there was something wrong with Queeker, put her handkerchief to her mouth, and coughed with what appeared to be unreasonable energy.
“I regret,” said Stanley (and Queeker’s breath came more freely), “that my stay must necessarily be short. I need not say that it would afford me the highest pleasure to accept your kind invitation” (he turned with a slight bow to Katie,
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