Bred in the Bone; Or, Like Father, Like Son: A NovelPayn, James
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Bred in the Bone; Or, Like Father, Like Son: A Novel
Payn, James
English fiction
The road they traveled was the same on which he had pursued Harry on
that eventful night, now months ago; every object recalled her to
him--the ruined tower on the promontory, the Fairies' Bower in the glen;
but they suggested less of love than of the peril that, for love's sake,
he was about to undergo. When they reached the point where he had met
her first, on the margin of the moor, now bright with gorse and heather,
and with its gray rocks sparkling in the sun, an overwhelming melancholy
seized him. Was it possible that the omen which had alarmed her simple
mind was really in the course of fulfillment? Was he, indeed, fated to
be the cause of misfortune to her he loved so well? If evil should
befall him, it was only too certain that it would include her in its
consequences.
"You seem a cup too low, Mr. Yorke," said the driver, wondering at the
young man's unusual silence; for his habit was to be brisk and lively
with every body.
"We'll remedy that when we get to Turlock," answered Richard,
good-naturedly, "by taking a glass of what you will together."
Accordingly, when they reached the little town, and while the
post-horses were getting ready which were to take him on the next stage
of his journey, Richard called for some liquor.
"Here's your good health, Sir," said the man, and added, in a roguish
whisper, "and our young missus's too, Sir."
"By all means," said Richard, coolly. "But why couple hers with mine?"
"Well, Sir, it do come natural like, somehow," said the man, becoming
suddenly stolid, on perceiving that his remark was by no means relished.
"I suppose it's seeing you so much about together; but I meant no
offense."
"I am sure of that," said Richard. It was on the tip of his tongue to
pursue the subject, but he restrained himself. If he had already given
occasion for gossip, he did not wish to provide fresh fuel for it in his
absence from Gethin.
When a mile or two away from Turlock he produced the check which was the
apparent cause of his irksome journey, and tearing it into minute
fragments, scattered them out of the window.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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