Erema; Or, My Father's SinBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
History
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
California -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
“I can not expect to be clear to you, miss, though I see it all now as
I saw it then, every tree, and hump, and hedge of it; only about the
distances from this to that, and that to the other, they would be
beyond me. You must be on the place itself; and I never could carry
distances--no, nor even clever men, I have heard my master say. But when
he came to that stile he stopped and turned upon all of us clearly, and
as straight as any man of men could be. 'Here I saw my father last, at
a quarter past ten o'clock last night, or within a few minutes of that
time.' I wished to see him to his inn, but he would not let me do so, and
he never bore contradiction. He said that he knew the way well, having
fished more than thirty years ago up and down this stream. He crossed
this stile, and we shook hands over it, and the moon being bright, I
looked into his face, and he said, 'My boy, God bless you!' Knowing his
short ways, I did not even look after him, but turned away, and went
straight home along this road. Upon my word as an Englishman, and as an
officer of her Majesty, that is all I know of it. Now let us go on to
the--to the other place.
“We all of us knew in our hearts, I am sure, that the Captain spoke
the simple truth, and his face was grand as he looked at us. But the
constable thought it his duty to ask,
“'Did you hear no sound of a shot, my lord? For he fell within a hundred
yards of this.'
“'I heard no sound of any shot whatever. I heard an owl hooting as
I went home, and then the rattle of a heavy wagon, and the bells of
horses. I have said enough. Let us go forward.'
“We obeyed him at once; and even the constable looked right and left, as
if he had been wrong. He signed to the miller's man to lead the way,
and my lord walked proudly after him. The path was only a little narrow
track, with the grass, like a front of hair, falling over it on the
upper side and on the under, dropping away like side curls; such a
little path that I was wondering how a great lord could walk over it.
Then we came down a steep place to a narrow bridge across a shallow
river--abridge made of only two planks and a rail, with a prop or two to
carry them. And one end of the handrail was fastened into a hollow and
stubby old hawthorn-tree, overhanging the bridge and the water a good
way. And just above this tree, and under its shadow, there came a dry
cut into the little river, not more than a yard or two above the wooden
bridge, a water-trough such as we have in Wales, miss, for the water to
run in, when the farmer pleases; but now there was no water in it, only
gravel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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