Griffith Gaunt; or, Jealousy: Volumes 1 to 3 (of 3)Reade, Charles
General
Griffith Gaunt; or, Jealousy: Volumes 1 to 3 (of 3)
Reade, Charles
Bigamy -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century
Kate Peyton glanced from lover to lover, and shuddered at Griffith. She
was familiar with petty jealousy; she had even detected it pinching
or coloring many a pretty face that tried very hard to hide it all
the time. But that was nothing to what she saw now. Hitherto she had
but beheld the feeling of jealousy, but now she witnessed the livid
passion of jealousy writhing in every lineament of a human face. That
terrible passion had transfigured its victim in a moment: the ruddy,
genial, kindly Griffith, with his soft brown eye, was gone; and in his
place lowered a face, older, and discolored, and convulsed, and almost
demoniacal.
Women (wiser perhaps in this than men) take their strongest impressions
by the eye, not ear. Catherine, I say, looked at him she had hitherto
thought she knew; looked and feared him. And, even while she looked,
and shuddered, Griffith spurred his mare sharply, and then drew her
head across the grey gelding's path. It was an instinctive impulse to
bar the lady he loved from taking another step towards the place where
his rival awaited her. "I cannot bear it," he gasped. "Choose you now
once for all between that puppy there and me," and he pointed with his
riding-whip at his rival, and waited with his teeth clenched for her
decision.
The movement was rapid, the gesture large and commanding, and the words
manly; for what says the fighting poet?--
"He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small;
Who fears to put it to the touch,
To win or lose it all."
CHAPTER II
Miss Peyton drew herself up, and back, by one motion, like a queen at
bay; but still she eyed him with a certain respect, and was careful now
not to provoke nor pain him needlessly.
"I prefer _you_--though you speak harshly to me, sir," said she, with
gentle dignity.
"Then give me your hand with that man in sight, and end my torments:
promise to marry me this very week. Ah, Kate! have pity on your poor
faithful servant who has loved you so long."
"I do, Griffith, I do," said she sweetly; "but I shall never marry now.
Only set your mind at rest about Mr. Neville there. He has never asked
me, for one thing."
"He soon will then."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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