Uncle Silas J. Sheridan Le Fanu (good books to read for beginners .TXT) đ
- Author: J. Sheridan Le Fanu
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âOh, it wonât beâ âit wonât beâ âOh no!â ânever!â âit could not be!â And in this stunned state Madame found me on her return.
But the valley of the shadow of death has its varieties of dread. The âhorror of great darknessâ is disturbed by voices and illumed by sights. There are periods of incapacity and collapse, followed by paroxysms of active terror. Thus in my journey during those long hours I found itâ âagonies subsiding into lethargies, and these breaking again into frenzy. I sometimes wonder how I carried my reason safely through the ordeal.
Madame locked the door, and amused herself with her own business, without minding me, humming little nasal snatches of French airs, as she smirked on her silken purchases displayed in the daylight. Suddenly it struck me that it was very dark, considering how early it was. I looked at my watch; it seemed to me a great effort of concentration to understand it. Four oâclock, it said. Four oâclock! It would be dark at fiveâ ânight in one hour!
âMadame, what oâclock is it? Is it evening?â I cried with my hand to my forehead, like a person puzzled.
âTwo three minutes past four. It had five minutes to four when I came upstairs,â answered she, without interrupting her examination of a piece of darned lace which she was holding close to her eyes at the window.
âOh, Madame! Madame! Iâm frightened,â cried I, with a wild and piteous voice, grasping her arm, and looking up, as shipwrecked people may their last to heaven, into her inexorable eyes. Madame looked frightened too, I thought, as she stared into my face. At last she said, rather angrily, and shaking her arm looseâ â
âWhat you mean, cheaile?â
âOh save me, Madame!â âoh save me!â âoh save me, Madame!â I pleaded, with the wild monotony of perfect terror, grasping and clinging to her dress, and looking up, with an agonised face, into the eyes of that shadowy Atropos.
âSave a you, indeed! Save! What niaiserie!â
âOh, Madame! Oh, dear Madame! for Godâs sake, only get me awayâ âget me from this, and Iâll do everything you ask me all my lifeâ âI willâ âindeed, Madame, I will! Oh save me! save me! save me!â
I was clinging to Madame as to my guardian angel in my agony.
âAnd who told you, cheaile, you are in any danger?â demanded Madame, looking down on me with a black and witchlike stare.
âI am, Madameâ âI amâ âin great danger! Oh, Madame, think of meâ âtake pity on me! I have none to help meâ âthere is no one but God and you!â
Madame all this time viewed me with the same dismal stare, like a sorceress reading futurity in my face.
âWell, maybe you areâ âhow can I tell? Maybe your uncle is madâ âmaybe you are mad. You have been my enemy alwaysâ âwhy should I care?â
Again I burst into wild entreaty, and, clasping her fast, poured forth my supplications with the bitterness of death.
âI have no confidence in you, little Maud; you are little rogueâ âpetite traĂźtresse! Reflect, if you can, how you âav always treat Madame. You âav attempt to ruin meâ âyou conspire with the bad domestics at Knowl to destroy meâ âand you expect me here to take a your part! You would never listen to meâ âyou âad no mercy for meâ âyou join to hunt me away from your house like wolf. Well, what you expect to find me now? Bah!â
This terrific âBah!â with a long nasal yell of scorn, rang in my ears like a clap of thunder.
âI say you are mad, petite insolente, to suppose I should care for you more than the poor hare it will care for the houndâ âmore than the bird who has escape will love the oiseleur. I do not careâ âI ought not care. It is your turn to suffer. Lie down on your bed there, and suffer quaitely.â
XXVIII Spiced ClaretI did not lie down; but I despaired. I walked round and round the room, wringing my hands in utter distraction. I threw myself at the bedside on my knees. I could not pray; I could only shiver and moan, with hands clasped, and eyes of horror turned up to heaven. I think Madame was, in her malignant way, perplexed. That some evil was intended me I am sure she was persuaded; but I dare say Meg Hawkes had said rightly in telling me that she was not fully in their secrets.
The first paroxysm of despair subsided into another state. All at once my mind was filled with the idea of Meg Hawkes, her enterprise, and my chances of escape. There is one point at which the road to Elverston makes a short ascent: there is a sudden curve there, two great ash-trees, with a roadside stile between, at the right side, covered with ivy. Driving back and forward, I did not recollect having particularly remarked this point in the highway; but now it was before me, in the thin light of the thinnest segment of moon, and the figure of Meg Hawkes, her back toward me, always ascending towards Elverston. It was
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