Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 682: January 20, 1877.Various
Science
Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 682: January 20, 1877.
Various
Periodicals
'But yes inteet sir,' rejoined the old woman, who was standing up,
cutting bread for the rest, and in whom I detected a large amount of
suppressed excitement. 'It wass but very little way off the Rocks, this
farm. And it is name, sir, the Spike Rock Farm. In the summer-time
there wass a many ladies and gentlemen will call here to'----
'Spike Rocks!' I cried, interrupting her rudely, and turning to
Jonathan in a violent rage, which for the moment swallowed up all
thought of caution--'how dared you, sirrah, bring us again to this
horrible spot? You _must_ have known where you were driving. You--you;
or,' I added, stammering, as a highly discomposing suspicion flashed
across my mind, and finishing the sentence differently from what I had
intended--'or you must have been more drunk than I had imagined.'
'But sir, I wass _not_ drunk no more than you wass yourself,' rejoined
the hunchback in a threatening tone, glaring at me fiercely. 'And it
is of no use that you will scold me sir, not of any at all; for, sir,
I did not know that we wass come here myself--not till this morning
whatever. And by'----
'Silence, man!' I interposed, with an assumption of dignity and a
strenuous effort to appear collected; 'swearing and passionate language
will not convince me that you are speaking the truth any better than
quiet words would do. But I will go and meet Mr Morgan,' I concluded,
rising as though to put an end to the incipient quarrel; and taking up
my hat, I prepared to leave the house.
Following me to the door, the farmer politely proposed that he, or one
of his sons, should walk with me for company. But upon my declining
the attention, it was not pressed; and contrary to my fears, I was
allowed to pass out alone. Owing to the storm, I had on the previous
evening been able to pay no attention to the farm's surroundings, and
my bedroom window, as I had this morning found, looked out merely upon
an orchard by its side. But now, scarcely had I opened the wicket
of the little garden, than, with a start of surprise, I distinctly
recognised the locality in which I stood. There, to my right, at not
many yards distant, appeared the identical white gate by which our
conveyance had waited yesterday whilst the little minister and I paid
our visit to the Spike Rocks. It was down this very road we had driven;
and upon looking back thereat, I even recollected the farm itself. I
recollected something else too, which made me involuntarily quicken
my steps, and which confirmed beyond doubt the suspicion which I had
just conceived--that Jonathan might be in collusion with the people
at the farm. I had thought nothing of it at the time; but I now well
remembered, upon our return to the dog-cart, observing a man, who, it
struck me, was our obliging host himself, walking away from it in the
direction of the house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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