Katerfelto: A Story of ExmoorWhyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
General
Katerfelto: A Story of Exmoor
Whyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
Exmoor (England) -- Fiction
He tied them up, however, fast and sure, before the stroke of noon,
pocketing his fees with considerable satisfaction, for Mr. Gale took no
delight in the gratuitous administrations of the Church, little thinking
that, even while he pronounced the blessing, which it did not strike him
seemed a mockery from such lips as his, John Garnet was turning out into
the sunshine, fresh and fair, like a bridegroom himself, to wait upon
Mistress Carew.
That gentleman lay long in bed without dreaming the pleasant dream
again, so bethought him at last that it would be more to the purpose to
rise and pursue the reality, than lose his time in sighing after the
shadow. He was very far gone now. The posy she had given him stood in
water at his bedside, every hour of the day seemed wasted that was not
spent with this blue-eyed girl, and he never gave Waif a thought for
more than a moment at a time.
Bold, blithe, and buoyant, he whistled a merry air as he strode up the
village street, thinking of his first, last love, like a cock-bird in
full plumage going to look for its mate He seemed to moult a feather or
two though, as he passed the village stocks, on the posts of which, for
want of a more prominent elevation, were posted two conspicuous
hand-bills, beginning with a gigantic "Whereas," and continuing through
a long and minute description of his own person, to the offer of one
hundred guineas for his capture, dead or alive; the whole concluding
with a flourish, in capital letters, to the glory of "Our Sovereign Lord
the King."
He went on to see Nelly all the same, but resolved that he would put off
to a more convenient season something he meant to have told her to-day.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE HARBOURER.
Nature is always beautiful in her morning, evening, and noon-day
dresses, her fits of rage, her languor of repose, her storms, her calms,
her shadows, sunshine, tears, and smiles; but never perhaps are we so
conscious of her charms, as when abroad before daybreak, in a
mountainous country, we see her growing, line by line, out of darkness
into day.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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