Historical fiction; Rich people -- Fiction; Virginia -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
At that Skelton quietly dropped his arms, and a strange composure
succeeded his agony of fear and apprehension about Lewis. He could now
do nothing more for Lewis, and nothing for himself. He was athletic,
although neither tall nor stout; but he did not have Lewis’s young
litheness, and he was already much exhausted. There would be no
clinging for hours to the bottom of the boat for him, and he was no
swimmer; he would make a fight for his life, but he felt it would be
of no avail. And Sylvia! As he recalled her last look upon him, he
beat his forehead against the side of the boat like a madman; but the
momentary wildness departed as quickly as it came. The recollection
that he was on the threshold of another world calmed him with the awful
majesty of the thought. He said to himself, “Sylvia understands--and
she will never forget!” All sorts of strange ideas came crowding upon
him in the darkness. All around him was a world of black and seething
waters and shrieking winds. Could this be that blue and placid river
upon which so much of his boyhood had been spent? Almost the first
thing he remembered was standing at the windows of his nursery, when
he was scarcely more than a baby, watching the dimpling shadows on
the water, and wondering if it were deep enough to drown a very
little boy. And he had lived in his boat as a boy, just as Lewis did.
Then he remembered the September afternoon, so long ago, when he had
taken Sylvia in his boat, and that night just such a terrible storm
had come up as this; the bridge had been washed away, and the tide
had overflowed all the flower beds at Deerchase and had come almost
up to the hall door. He remembered the morning after, when he left
Deerchase--the river, as far as eye could reach, a gigantic lagoon,
muddy and turbulent. Would it look like that the next morning? and
would a person drowned that night be found within a few hours? He did
not remember ever to have heard of a single person being drowned in
that river, and could not think whether the body would be washed ashore
or would sink for days.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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