The Woman in White Wilkie Collins (bts books to read txt) đ
- Author: Wilkie Collins
Book online «The Woman in White Wilkie Collins (bts books to read txt) đ». Author Wilkie Collins
It was not twilight yetâ âthe light of the setting sun still lingered in the heavens, and little more than the first half-hour of my solitary watch had elapsedâ âwhen I heard footsteps and a voice. The footsteps were approaching from the other side of the church, and the voice was a womanâs.
âDonât you fret, my dear, about the letter,â said the voice. âI gave it to the lad quite safe, and the lad he took it from me without a word. He went his way and I went mine, and not a living soul followed me afterwardsâ âthat Iâll warrant.â
These words strung up my attention to a pitch of expectation that was almost painful. There was a pause of silence, but the footsteps still advanced. In another moment two persons, both women, passed within my range of view from the porch window. They were walking straight towards the grave; and therefore they had their backs turned towards me.
One of the women was dressed in a bonnet and shawl. The other wore a long travelling-cloak of a dark-blue colour, with the hood drawn over her head. A few inches of her gown were visible below the cloak. My heart beat fast as I noted the colourâ âit was white.
After advancing about halfway between the church and the grave they stopped, and the woman in the cloak turned her head towards her companion. But her side face, which a bonnet might now have allowed me to see, was hidden by the heavy, projecting edge of the hood.
âMind you keep that comfortable warm cloak on,â said the same voice which I had already heardâ âthe voice of the woman in the shawl. âMrs. Todd is right about your looking too particular, yesterday, all in white. Iâll walk about a little while youâre here, churchyards being not at all in my way, whatever they may be in yours. Finish what you want to do before I come back, and let us be sure and get home again before night.â
With those words she turned about, and retracing her steps, advanced with her face towards me. It was the face of an elderly woman, brown, rugged, and healthy, with nothing dishonest or suspicious in the look of it. Close to the church she stopped to pull her shawl closer round her.
âQueer,â she said to herself, âalways queer, with her whims and her ways, ever since I can remember her. Harmless, thoughâ âas harmless, poor soul, as a little child.â
She sighedâ âlooked about the burial-ground nervouslyâ âshook her head, as if the dreary prospect by no means pleased her, and disappeared round the corner of the church.
I doubted for a moment whether I ought to follow and speak to her or not. My intense anxiety to find myself face to face with her companion helped me to decide in the negative. I could ensure seeing the woman in the shawl by waiting near the churchyard until she came backâ âalthough it seemed more than doubtful whether she could give me the information of which I was in search. The person who had delivered the letter was of little consequence. The person who had written it was the one centre of interest, and the one source of information, and that person I now felt convinced was before me in the churchyard.
While these ideas were passing through my mind I saw the woman in the cloak approach close to the grave, and stand looking at it for a little while. She then glanced all round her, and taking a white linen cloth or handkerchief from under her cloak, turned aside towards the brook. The little stream ran into the churchyard under a tiny archway in the bottom of the wall, and ran out again, after a winding course of a few dozen yards, under a similar opening. She dipped the cloth in the water, and returned to the grave. I saw her kiss the white cross, then kneel down before the inscription, and apply her wet cloth to the cleansing of it.
After considering how I could show myself with the least possible chance of frightening her, I resolved to cross the wall before me, to skirt round it outside, and to enter the churchyard again by the stile near the grave, in order that she might see me as I approached. She was so absorbed over her employment that she did not hear me coming until I had stepped over the stile. Then she looked up, started to her feet with a faint cry, and stood facing me in speechless and motionless terror.
âDonât be frightened,â I said. âSurely you remember me?â
I stopped while I spokeâ âthen advanced a few steps gentlyâ âthen stopped againâ âand so approached by little and little till I was close to her. If there had been any doubt still left in my mind, it must have been now set at rest. There, speaking affrightedly for itselfâ âthere
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