A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 1 of 3)Marryat, Florence
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A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 1 of 3)
Marryat, Florence
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
‘I am not afraid; God will take care of me,’ was the calm reply; and
I strode forwards into deeper and deeper water with each step. When I
reached the verandah the struggle was severe, for there the waves were
highest and strongest; but although much impeded by Janie’s terrified
clasp, I managed to wade with her to the foot of the ladder, and as soon
as I had accomplished two or three steps of that, the rest was easy. I
toiled with my helpless burden up to the roof, despair lending strength
to my limbs; and as soon as I had reached it, I found myself in a goodly
company of natives, who, with a few unfortunate exceptions, had managed
to gain the top of the house as soon as the flood had surprised them.
Having delivered Janie to the care of the ayah, I rushed down again to
the assistance of Lionne, my heart throbbing as though it would burst
with the fear that my efforts might be made too late. The water was now
higher than ever in the verandah, and I began to be afraid that I should
have to swim back again. I dashed on as vigorously and quickly as I could
towards the door, to the lintels of which I had left her clinging. She
was not there!
The dark water was swaying and surging through the deserted rooms;
the furniture was floating about in the most dire confusion; trunks,
portmanteaus, and other trivial articles knocked up against me at every
turn before they drifted out to sea; but my beloved I saw nowhere. In an
agony I called upon her name, making the walls resound with my voice,
caring nothing who heard or listened to me.
‘Lionne, Lionne! my dearest, my beloved! where are you? Speak to me.’
But no voice answered mine, no moan or groan reached my ears; and I waded
into the chamber which had been my wife’s.
Ah, what was that?—that helpless mass of white drapery clinging about
delicately-moulded limbs, which swayed about in one corner, prevented by
the wall—thank gracious heaven!—from floating out to sea with chairs and
tables, but being knocked against that cruel wall with every motion of
the waves, until no apparent life was left in it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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