Fantasy fiction, English; Foxes -- Fiction; Metamorphosis -- Fiction
She had been strictly brought up by a woman of excellent principles and
considerable attainments, who died a year or so before the marriage. And
owing to the circumstance that her mother had been dead many years, and
her father bedridden, and not altogether rational for a little while
before his death, they had few visitors but her uncle. He often stopped
with them a month or two at a stretch, particularly in winter, as he was
fond of shooting snipe, which are plentiful in the valley there. That
she did not grow up a country hoyden is to be explained by the
strictness of her governess and the influence of her uncle. But perhaps
living in so wild a place gave her some disposition to wildness, even in
spite of her religious upbringing. Her old nurse said: "Miss Silvia was
always a little wild at heart," though if this was true it was never
seen by anyone else except her husband.
On one of the first days of the year 1880, in the early afternoon,
husband and wife went for a walk in the copse on the little hill above
Rylands. They were still at this time like lovers in their behaviour and
were always together. While they were walking they heard the hounds and
later the huntsman's horn in the distance. Mr. Tebrick had persuaded her
to hunt on Boxing Day, but with great difficulty, and she had not
enjoyed it (though of hacking she was fond enough).
Hearing the hunt, Mr. Tebrick quickened his pace so as to reach the edge
of the copse, where they might get a good view of the hounds if they
came that way. His wife hung back, and he, holding her hand, began
almost to drag her. Before they gained the edge of the copse she
suddenly snatched her hand away from his very violently and cried out,
so that he instantly turned his head.
_Where his wife had been the moment before was a small fox, of a very
bright red._ It looked at him very beseechingly, advanced towards him a
pace or two, and he saw at once that his wife was looking at him from
the animal's eyes. You may well think if he were aghast: and so maybe
was his lady at finding herself in that shape, so they did nothing for
nearly half-an-hour but stare at each other, he bewildered, she asking
him with her eyes as if indeed she spoke to him: "What am I now become?
Have pity on me, husband, have pity on me for I am your wife."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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