Canada, Western -- Fiction; Farm life -- Canada -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction
"If you are wise," she said quietly, "you will not press me for an
answer now. You can wait, at least, until this time to-morrow. Then I
shall be outside on the steps of the terrace."
It was not very encouraging, but Leland made her a little inclination.
"If that is your wish, I must try to be patient," he said.
CHAPTER V
NO ESCAPE
It was towards the middle of the next afternoon when Carrie Denham
leaned upon the rails of the little path outside the grey walls of the
garden at Barrock-holme. From where she stood she could see the narrower
and unprotected way along which she had ventured with Leland a few weeks
earlier, and she could not help remembering his quiet glance of
interrogation when he had come upon it suddenly. She and Jimmy had often
crossed that somewhat perilous ledge in their younger days, the more
often, in fact, because it had been forbidden to them. Though it was, of
course, new to Leland, he had displayed no hesitation when once she had
made her wishes plain. This had pleased her at the time, since it
suggested that he understood her resolution was equal to his own; but
now she brushed the recollection aside, for just then she felt she
almost hated him.
Close by, a narrow flight of steps hewn out of the dripping rock led
down into the ravine, and she watched with a curious sense of strained
expectancy the path which wound among the silvery birches from the foot
of them to the mossy stepping-stones round which the Barrock flashed.
She knew this was unwise, and that she could not escape from what lay
before her, but hope dies hard when one is young, and there was still
lurking at the back of her mind a faint belief that after all something
might happen to stave off the impending disaster. If so, it would be
only fitting that it should result from the efforts of the man in whom
she had once had faith and confidence, though neither now was so strong
as it had been.
A drowsy quietness brooded over Barrock-holme. The men were away
shooting, and the women had driven to inspect some relics of the Roman
occupation among the fells. She herself had made excuses for remaining
behind.
There was not a movement among the birch leaves still hanging here and
there, flecks of pale gold among the lace-like twigs beneath her, and
the murmur of the gently swirling water emphasised the silence of the
hollow. She could hear a squirrel shaking the beech-mast down, and the
patter of the falling nuts rose sharply distinct from the thin carpet of
yellow leaves. Then she felt her heart beat as the sound of footsteps
reached her ears. The man she had once believed in was coming, and, if
there was any way out of the difficulties that threatened her, it was
his part to find it.
He came up the rude steps hastily, a well-favoured young man of her own
world, and almost her own age, which she felt was in some ways
unfortunate then. As he seized both her hands, with a little resolute
movement she drew them away from him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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