Dariel: A Romance of SurreyBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
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Dariel: A Romance of Surrey
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
Surrey (England) -- Fiction
Before I went away, which I was obliged to do without even a glimpse of
Dariel, her father very kindly put this question to me, "Do you really
wish to know more, my friend, of the scheme which has brought me to this
lonely valley, and kept me occupied here so long, in the hope that I may
be of service to the race which has trusted and loved me, but received
from me as yet no better reward than disaster and war? You are eager to
be told? Then if you can come on Saturday, when the work of the day has
been accomplished, you shall hear, not of that alone, but of things
which have befallen me, from which you will perceive most clearly that
the greater the distance preserved henceforth between Mr. Cranleigh and
all Caucasians, the better it will be for his welfare and that of all
his relations."
Now it is useless for me to trouble anybody, even if anybody would be
troubled, with all the wild thoughts that came into my head, and all the
sad things that would not let my heart alone, as I went with this burden
of doubt to bear. It must not be supposed for a moment, because I have
chanced not to touch upon the matter, that I had cast away all sense of
duty to my relatives in this adventure. The home, and the farm, and the
welfare of the family had not been impaired by a single penny, through
what some might call the distraction of my mind. Only let every one
attend to business, as I had never failed to do all this time, and what
a different place the world would be! And as for disturbing my father
and mother, with any description of what had happened to myself, when
the chances were that all of it would come to nothing--that would indeed
have been a wicked thing to do, in spite of all their preference for
Harold.
So clear was I from doubt upon that score, and all my proceedings had
been so blameless, ever since that casual "peep through the hedge,"--as
Dariel's father called it,--that instead of any squeamishness or
self-reproach, I had two points to dwell upon of maltreatment to myself.
Why had I been sent to London on a special errand, and then deprived of
all chance of completing it? And again, had I been told of that hateful
Prince Hafer, and purposely goaded into just wrath against him, simply
that I might break forth into rude behaviour, and so be dismissed as a
savage, who could not control himself before a lady?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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