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. Joan Haste by H. Rider Haggard (cat reading book .TXT) 📖
- Author: H. Rider Haggard
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life; but now that I have blurted it, it is dishonoured, and I am
dishonoured with it. That I was myself half dead with the agony of
suspense is no excuse; I say that I am dishonoured.”
To the listening Emma all these sentiments, natural as they might be
to a girl of Emma’s exalted temperament and spotless purity of mind,
were as speeches made in the Hebrew tongue—indeed, within herself she
did not hesitate to characterise her friend as “a high-flown little
idiot.” But, as she could not quite see what would be the best line to
take in answering her, she satisfied herself with shaking her head as
though in dissent, and looking sympathetic.
“What torments me most,” went on Emma, who by now was thoroughly
worked up—“I can say it to you, for you are a woman and will
understand—is the thought that those shameless words might possibly
come to your brother’s ears. Three people heard them—Lady Graves,
yourself and my father. Of course I know that neither you nor your
mother would betray me, for, as I say, you are women and will feel for
me; but, oh! I cannot be sure of my father. I know what he desires;
and if he thought that he could advance his object, I am not certain
that I could trust him—no, although he has promised to be silent:
though, indeed, to tell your brother would be the surest way to defeat
himself; for, did he learn the truth, such a man would despise me for
ever.”
“My dear girl,” said Ellen boldly, for she felt that the situation
required courage, “do calm yourself. Of course no one would dream of
betraying to Henry what you insist upon calling an indiscretion, but
what I thought a very beautiful avowal made under touching
circumstances.” Then she paused, and added reflectively, “I only see
one danger.”
“What danger?” asked Emma.
“Well, it has to do with that girl—Joan somebody—who brought about
all this trouble, and who is nursing Henry, very much against my wish.
I happen to have found out that she was listening at the door when Dr.
Childs came into the room that night, just before you fainted, and it
is impossible to say how long she had been there, and equally
impossible to answer for her discretion.”
“Joan Haste—that lovely woman! Of course she heard, and of course she
will tell him. I was afraid of her the moment that I saw her, and now
I begin to see why, though I believe that this is only the beginning
of the evils which she will bring upon me. I am sure of it: I feel it
in my heart.”
“I think that you are alarming yourself quite unnecessarily, Emma. It
is possible that this girl may repeat anything that she chances to
overhear, and it is probable that she will do her best to strike up a
flirtation with Henry, if he is foolish enough to allow it; for
persons of this kind always avail themselves of such an
opportunity—generally with a view to future compensation. But Henry
is a cautious individual, who has never been known to commit himself
in that fashion, and I don’t see why he should begin now; though I do
think it would be a good thing if that young lady could be sent about
her business. At the worst, however, there would only be some
temporary entanglement, such as happens every day, and means nothing
serious.”
“Nothing serious? I am sure it would be serious enough if that girl
had to do with it: she is not a flirt—she looks too strong and
earnest for that kind of thing; and if once she made him fond of her,
she would never let him go.”
“Perhaps,” answered Ellen; “but first of all she has to make him fond
of her, and I have reasons for knowing, even if she wishes to do this,
that she will find it a little difficult.”
“What reasons?” asked Emma.
“Only that a man like Henry does not generally fall in love with two
women at the same time,” Ellen answered drily.
“Is he—is he already in love, then?”
“Yes, dear; unless I am very much mistaken, he is already in
love—with you.”
“I doubt it,” Emma answered, shaking her head. “But even if it should
be so, there will be an end of it if he hears of my behaviour on that
night. And he is sure to hear: I know that he will hear.”
And, as though overcome by the bitterness of her position, Emma put
her hands before her eyes, then turned suddenly and walked into the
house.
ELLEN FINDS A REMEDY
When Emma had gone Ellen settled herself comfortably in a garden
chair, sighed, and began to fan her face with a newspaper which lay at
hand. Her mind was agitated, for it had become obvious to her that the
position was full of complications, which at present her well-meant
efforts had increased rather than diminished.
“I only hope that I may be forgiven for all the white lies I have been
forced to tell this morning,” she reflected. Ellen did not consider
her various embellishments of the truth as deserving of any harsher
name, since it seemed to her not too sensitive conscience, that if
Jove laughs at lovers’ perjuries, he must dismiss with a casual smile
the prevarications of those who wish to help other people to become
lovers.
Still Ellen felt aggrieved, foreseeing the possibility of being found
out and placed in awkward positions. Oh, what fools they were, and how
angry she was with both of them—with Emma for her schoolgirlish
sentiment, and with Henry for his idiotic pride and his headstrong
obstinacy! Surely the man must be mad to wish to fling away such a
girl as Emma and her fortune, to say nothing of the romantic devotion
that she cherished for him, little as he deserved it—a devotion which
Ellen imagined would have been flattering to the self-conceit of any
male. It was hard on her that she should be obliged to struggle
against such rank and wrong-headed stupidity, and even driven to
condescend to plots and falsehoods. After all, it was not for her own
benefit that she did this, or only remotely so, since she was well
provided for; though it was true that, should she become involved in
an immediate financial scandal, her matrimonial prospects might be
affected.
No, it was for the benefit of her family, the interests of which, to
do her justice, Ellen had more at heart than any other earthly thing,
her own welfare of course expected. Should this marriage fall through,
ruin must overtake their house, and their name would be lost, in all
probability never to be heard again. It seemed impossible to her that
her brother should wish to reject the salvation which was so freely
proffered to him; and yet, maddening as the thought might be, she
could not deny that she saw signs of such a desire. Well, she would
not give up the game; tired as she was of it, she would fight to the
last ditch. Were she to draw back now, she felt that she should fail
in her most sacred duty.
As Ellen came to this determination she saw Mr. Levinger walking
towards her. He was leaning on his stick, as usual, and looked
particularly refined in his summer suit and grey wide-awake hat.
“How do you do, Miss Graves?” he said, in his gentle voice: “I heard
that you were here, but did not come out because I thought you might
wish to have a chat with Emma. Where has she gone?”
“I don’t know,” Ellen answered, as they shook hands.
“Well, I dare say that she will be back presently. How hot it is here!
Would you like to come and sit in my study till luncheon is ready?”
And he led the way to a French window that opened on to the lawn.
Mr. Levinger’s study was a very comfortable room, and its walls were
lined with books almost to the ceiling. Books also lay about on the
desk. Evidently he had risen from reading one of them, and Ellen
noticed with surprise that it was Jeremy Taylor’s “Holy Living.”
“How is your brother to-day?” he asked, when they were seated.
Ellen reflected a moment, and determined to take advantage of the
opportunity to unbosom herself.
“He is doing as well as possible, thank you. Still I am anxious about
him.”
“Why? I thought that he was clear of all complications except the
chance of a limp like mine.”
“I did not mean that I was anxious about his health, Mr. Levinger. I
am sure that you will forgive me if I am frank with you, so I will
speak out.”
He bowed expectantly, and Ellen went on:
“My father has told me, and indeed I know it from what you have said
to me at different times, that for various reasons you would be glad
if Henry and Emma—made a match of it.”
Again Mr. Levinger bowed.
“I need not say that our family would be equally glad; and that Emma
herself would be glad we learned from what she said the other day.
There remains therefore only one person who could object—Henry
himself. As you know, he is a curiously sensitive man, especially
where money matters are concerned, and I believe firmly that the fact
of this marriage being so greatly to his advantage, and to that of his
family, is the one thing which makes him hesitate, for I am sure, from
the way in which he has spoken of her, that he is much attracted by
Emma. Had he come here to stay, however, I fancy that all this would
have passed off, and by now they might have been happily engaged, or
on the verge of it; but you see, this accident happened, and he is
laid up—unfortunately, not here.”
“He will not be laid up for ever, Miss Graves. As you say, I am
anxious for this marriage, and I hope that it will come about in due
course.”
“No, he will not be laid up for ever; but what I fear is, that it may
be too long for Emma’s and his own welfare.”
“You must pardon me, but I do not quite understand.”
“Then you must pardon me if I speak to you without reserve. You may
have noticed that there is a singularly handsome girl at the Bradmouth
inn. I mean Joan Haste.”
At the mention of this name Mr. Levinger rose suddenly from his chair
and walked to the end of the room, where he appeared to lose himself
in the contemplation of the morocco backs of an encyclopedia.
Presently he turned, and it struck Ellen that his face was strangely
agitated, though at this distance she could not be sure.
“Yes, I know the girl,” he said in his usual voice—“the one who
brought about the accident. What of her?”
“Only this: I fear that, unless something is done to prevent it, she
may bring about another and a greater accident. Listen, Mr. Levinger.
I have no facts to go on, or at least very few, but I have my eyes and
my instinct. If I am not mistaken, Joan Haste is in love with Henry,
and doing her best to make him in love with her—an effort in which,
considering her opportunities, her great personal advantages, and the
fact that men generally do become fond of their nurses, she is likely
enough to succeed, for he is just the kind
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