Armorel of Lyonesse: A Romance of To-dayBesant, Walter
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Armorel of Lyonesse: A Romance of To-day
Besant, Walter
Fraud -- Fiction; Isles of Scilly (England) -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
Roland drew a deep breath of admiration. 'Everybody,' he said, 'ought
to come to Scilly and to stay a long time.'
He turned from the view to the girl beside him. She had changed her
blue flannel dress for a daintier and a prettier costume--think not
that there are no shops at Hugh Town--of grey nun's cloth, daintily
embroidered in front. Still at her throat she wore a red flower, and
round her neck clung the golden torque found in the old king's grave.
Her dark eyes glowed: her lips were parted in a smile: her cheek
showed the dewy bloom that some girls, fortunate above their sisters,
can exhibit when they first appear in the morning: her long tresses
were now tied up and confined; she looked as if she had just stepped
forth from her chamber, fresh from her sleep. No one certainly could
have guessed that she had been up since six; nor that the fish which
had been hissing in the frying-pan, and were now lying meekly side by
side in a dish on the breakfast-table, were of her own catching. An
hour's sitting in the boat off Samson Ledge with hook and line had
procured this splendid contribution to the morning banquet. Fish
fragrant with the salt sea: fish that had not been packed tight in
boxes, nor travelled in railway trains, nor been slapped about on
counters, nor been packed in ice; fish that can never lie on a London
table--these were set out before Roland's hungry gaze.
The ancient dame did not appear. The two breakfasted, as they had
supped, together. I do not know how or where Armorel learned the art
and practice of hospitality, but certainly she showed a true feeling
in the matter of feeding--especially at breakfast. First, the table
was decorated with the autumn leaves of the bramble--crimson, yellow,
purple--few, indeed, know how beautiful a table may be made when
decorated with these leaves. There were also a few late flowers from
the garden; but not many. The coffee was strong, the milk hot and
thick, the bread and butter home-made, like the beer of yester eve:
the ham was cured by Chessun: the eggs were collected by Armorel: she
had also with her own hands made the jam and the cake.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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