Ellice Quentin, and other storiesHawthorne, Julian
General
Ellice Quentin, and other stories
Hawthorne, Julian
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
It was a pretty spectacle, but one likely to be regarded with different
feelings by an Englishman safe on dry land and an American lost in
twelve fathoms of water. Jeff had not come back to shore, and being out
of sight of land, it necessarily followed that he was lost. The danger
was graver than might at first sight have appeared, for the swimmer had
had time to get fully a mile out to sea, and at that distance there
were strong currents which might sweep him away altogether. I scanned
the white blank before me with anxious eyes, but it revealed nothing.
Poor Jeff!
I began to experience that uncomfortable sensation occasioned by
knowing a friend to be in peril, and feeling the necessity of doing
something to rescue him. More grievous but more convenient is it when
the inevitable occurs at once, and saves us the annoyance of suspense.
I could have sorrowed heartily and sincerely over the poor poet's
drowned body laid out upon the shingle, but there was no satisfaction
in taking measures to ascertain whether or not the corpse were an
accomplished fact--to postpone, in other words, the luxury of grief for
the anguish of action.
A group of sailors were collected round a boat at the water's edge,
which they seemed to be on the point of launching. A lady was
haranguing them earnestly. As I approached I recognised her as the
heroine of my late adventure with the peignoir. She was saying--
'It was in that direction that I last saw her. She is already, perhaps,
a kilomètre distant. There is no time to lose, mind you. Behold me
distracted.'
Here was my opportunity; I could kill both my birds with one stone.
I stepped forward with raised hat, and placed myself at the disposal
of feminine distress. Having respectfully recalled myself to her
recollection, I begged to be honoured with the distinction of being
permitted to promote the alleviation of the anxiety under which she
appeared to be labouring.
She thanked me with ardour, but to inconvenience me would desolate her.
Having received at her hands a favour beyond estimation, I should
expire of chagrin in the case of being refused the privilege of
testifying in some degree the depth and liveliness of my recognition.
Madame hereupon vouchsafed to inform me that Mademoiselle her daughter
had paddled away with herself into the fog, and there was fear that
she be lost in unknown oceans.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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