Guardian and ward -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Love stories
Leigh followed him in time to receive blow after blow, as the branches
through which Claud dashed sprang back, cutting him in the face and
drenching him with water. Guided, though, by the sounds, he followed as
quickly as he could, till all at once the rustling and crackling of
branches ceased, and he drew up short on the soft turf of a lawn,
listening for the next movement of his quarry, but listening in vain.
A minute later the dogs began barking violently, and Leigh's thoughts
turned to his sister. Then to Claud again, and he hesitated as to
whether he should go to the house and insist upon seeing him. But his
reason told him that he could not leave Jenny there in the wet and
darkness, and with his teeth set hard in his anger and despair, he tried
to find his way back to the place where he had come over into the
garden, missing it, and coming to the conclusion that his sister had
fled, for though he peered in all directions on crossing the hurdles, he
could see no sign of her in the misty darkness.
As it happened he was not above a dozen yards from where she stood
clinging to the dripping iron rail; and when with an angry exclamation
he turned to make for the pathway, her plaintive voice arose:
"Please take me with you, Claud," she said. "I am so faint and cold!"
He turned upon her with a suppressed roar, caught her by the arm,
dragged it under his, and set off through the dripping grass with great
strides, but without uttering a word.
She kept up with him as long as she could, weeping bitterly the while,
and blinding herself with her tears so that she could not see which way
they went. Twice over she stumbled and would have fallen, had not his
hold been so tight upon her arm, and at last, totally unable to keep up
with him, she was about to utter a piteous appeal, when he stopped
short, for they had reached the wet and muddy stile.
Here he loosed her arm, and sprang over into the road.
"Give me your hands," he cried, and she obeyed, and then as he reached
over, she climbed the stile, stepping on to the top rail at last.
"Jump," he said, sharply; and she obeyed, but slipped as she alighted,
one foot gliding over the muddy surface, and in spite of his strong
grasp upon her hands, she fell sideways, and uttered a sharp cry.
"No hysterical nonsense, now, girl," he cried. "Get up!"
"I--I can't, Pierce. Oh, pray, don't be so cruel to me, please."
"Get up!" he cried, more sternly.
"My ankle's twisted under me," she said, faintly. "I--I--!"
A piteous sigh ended her speech, and she sank nerveless nearly to the
level, but a sudden snatch on his part saved her from falling prone.
Then bending down, he raised her, quite insensible, in his arms, drew
her arm over his shoulders, and strode on again, the passionate rage and
indignation in his breast nerving him so that she seemed to possess no
weight at all.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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