Hunted Down: The Detective Stories of Charles DickensDickens, Charles
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Hunted Down: The Detective Stories of Charles Dickens
Dickens, Charles
Detective and mystery stories, English
‘To save you, young lady, to save you! For God’s sake, collect your
strength and collect your firmness! If you were here alone, and hemmed
in by the rising tide on the flow to fifty feet above your head, you
could not be in greater danger than the danger you are now to be saved
from.’
The figure on the sand was spun out, and straggled off into a crooked
little jerk that ended at the cliff very near us.
‘As I am, before Heaven and the Judge of all mankind, your friend, and
your dead sister’s friend, I solemnly entreat you, Miss Niner, without
one moment’s loss of time, to come to this gentleman with me!’
If the little carriage had been less near to us, I doubt if I could have
got her away; but it was so near that we were there before she had
recovered the hurry of being urged from the rock. I did not remain there
with her two minutes. Certainly within five, I had the inexpressible
satisfaction of seeing her—from the point we had sat on, and to which I
had returned—half supported and half carried up some rude steps notched
in the cliff, by the figure of an active man. With that figure beside
her, I knew she was safe anywhere.
I sat alone on the rock, awaiting Mr. Slinkton’s return. The twilight
was deepening and the shadows were heavy, when he came round the point,
with his hat hanging at his button-hole, smoothing his wet hair with one
of his hands, and picking out the old path with the other and a
pocket-comb.
‘My niece not here, Mr. Sampson?’ he said, looking about.
‘Miss Niner seemed to feel a chill in the air after the sun was down, and
has gone home.’
He looked surprised, as though she were not accustomed to do anything
without him; even to originate so slight a proceeding.
‘I persuaded Miss Niner,’ I explained.
‘Ah!’ said he. ‘She is easily persuaded—for her good. Thank you, Mr.
Sampson; she is better within doors. The bathing-place was farther than
I thought, to say the truth.’
‘Miss Niner is very delicate,’ I observed.
He shook his head and drew a deep sigh. ‘Very, very, very. You may
recollect my saying so. The time that has since intervened has not
strengthened her. The gloomy shadow that fell upon her sister so early
in life seems, in my anxious eyes, to gather over her, ever darker, ever
darker. Dear Margaret, dear Margaret! But we must hope.’
The hand-carriage was spinning away before us at a most indecorous pace
for an invalid vehicle, and was making most irregular curves upon the
sand. Mr. Slinkton, noticing it after he had put his handkerchief to his
eyes, said:
‘If I may judge from appearances, your friend will be upset, Mr.
Sampson.’
‘It looks probable, certainly,’ said I.
‘The servant must be drunk.’
‘The servants of old gentlemen will get drunk sometimes,’ said I.
‘The major draws very light, Mr. Sampson.’
‘The major does draw light,’ said I.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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