False EvidenceOppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
General
False Evidence
Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips)
Soldiers -- Fiction
I AM TEMPTED
Early on the following morning I mounted for the last time into the
high dog-cart, which had been kept in the coach-house at the "cottage"
for my use, and was driven rapidly away with my back to Devereux Court.
It was a grey, misty morning, and a watery sun was shining feebly down
from a cloud-strewn sky. It had been raining, and innumerable
glistening drops of moisture were hanging and falling from the
well-nigh leafless trees. A desolate morning; with a slight vapoury
mist rising from the ground and chilling the air. But my thoughts were
not of the weather, for I was taking my last lingering farewell of
Devereux Court. As we turned the corner and lost sight of it for a
while, a stronger ray of sunlight than any which had as yet succeeded
in piercing the bank of clouds reached its windows, and transformed its
whole appearance. A thousand rays of light seemed to be smiling down
at me from the massive stretching front and the frowning towers, all
the brighter from the contrast with the black woods above and around.
I was young and impressionable to anything in nature, especially with
my heart so full as it was then, and, with a sudden start, I rose up
and waved my hat in an answering farewell Then I sat down and would not
look round again lest the light should have died out from the
diamond-framed windows, and the gloom from the threatening clouds reign
there instead. I was superstitious, perhaps--but I wanted to carry
away with me in my heart the memory of Devereux Court, as I had seen it
a moment ago, with its dark grey front softened and its windows
sparkling gaily in that chance flickering ray of sunlight. And so I
would not look round, even when John slackened at the top of the last
hill, and, pointing with his whip, "reckoned that this wur the last I
should see of t'ould place, and rare sorry he wur too," he added, with
grateful recollections of a piece of gold at that moment reposing
snugly in his waistcoat pocket.
But I would not look, and, a little offended, he touched the old hunter
with his whip, and before long we reached the station of Devereux.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account