Charles Tyrrell; or, The Bitter Blood. Volumes I and IIJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
Charles Tyrrell; or, The Bitter Blood. Volumes I and II
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Murder -- Fiction
At length, perceiving such to be the case, Charles Tyrrell ceased;
and, thinking the time long, turned to the door to see if the horses
were not yet put to. Just as he was entering the passage on quitting
the supper-room, the opposite door opened, and a lady came partly out,
bearing a light in her hand. She was turning her head to speak to some
one within the room, and at first all that Charles Tyrrell could see
was a beautiful figure, graceful in every line; but more peculiarly
graceful from the manner in which the head was turned, showing the
beautiful hair, fine, full, and glossy as silk, gathered up into a
knot at the back of the head, from which one or two curls escaped, and
fell upon the fair neck below. The form and the attitude were
beautiful, but that attitude lasted only for a moment; for the first
step of Charles Tyrrell made her turn round, not with any quick and
nervous start, but quietly and slowly, to see who it was so near; and
the moment she had seen the stranger, she withdrew again quietly into
the room and closed the door, probably divining that the members of
the supper party belonging to the stagecoach were about to resume
their journey, and resolving to let them depart ere she proceeded
whithersoever she was going.
The single moment, however, during which she had turned towards him,
had been sufficient to show Charles Tyrrell one of the loveliest faces
he had ever beheld. It is nearly in vain to describe beauty; for the
pen will not trace the same definite lines as the pencil, and the
imagination of those who read will not be fettered down to the
reality, like the imagination of those who see. Nor, indeed, although
Charles obtained a full sight of that beautiful face, was the idea
that he formed of it accurate. He fancied that her eyes were black,
when, in truth, they were deep blue; but that mistake might proceed
from their being shadowed by the great length of the thick black
eyelashes. He fancied, too, that the hair was nearly black, when, in
fact, it was of the rich brown of a chestnut just separated from its
green covering; but that might proceed from its being of a very deep
tint of that brown, and from the position of the light which she
carried.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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