Lay Morals, and Other PapersStevenson, Robert Louis
Philosophy
Lay Morals, and Other Papers
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Essays; Short stories
She looked, and what she saw was the familiar thought of all her hours;
the tall figure very plainly habited in black, the spotless ruffles, the
slim hands; the long, well-shapen, serious, shaven face, the wide and
somewhat thin-lipped mouth, the dark eyes that were so full of depth and
change and colour. He was gazing at her with his brows a little knit,
his chin upon one hand and that elbow resting on his knee.
‘Ye look a man!’ she cried, ‘ay, and should be a great one! The more
shame to you to lie here idle like a dog before the fire.’
‘My fair Holdaway,’ quoth Mr. Archer, ‘you are much set on action. I
cannot dig, to beg I am ashamed.’ He continued, looking at her with a
half-absent fixity, ‘’Tis a strange thing, certainly, that in my years of
fortune I should never taste happiness, and now when I am broke, enjoy so
much of it, for was I ever happier than to-day? Was the grass softer,
the stream pleasanter in sound, the air milder, the heart more at peace?
Why should I not sink? To dig—why, after all, it should be easy. To
take a mate, too? Love is of all grades since Jupiter; love fails to
none; and children’—but here he passed his hand suddenly over his eyes.
‘O fool and coward, fool and coward!’ he said bitterly; ‘can you forget
your fetters? You did not know that I was fettered, Nance?’ he asked,
again addressing her.
But Nance was somewhat sore. ‘I know you keep talking,’ she said, and,
turning half away from him, began to wring out a sheet across her
shoulder. ‘I wonder you are not wearied of your voice. When the hands
lie abed the tongue takes a walk.’
Mr. Archer laughed unpleasantly, rose and moved to the water’s edge. In
this part the body of the river poured across a little narrow fell, ran
some ten feet very smoothly over a bed of pebbles, then getting wind, as
it were, of another shelf of rock which barred the channel, began, by
imperceptible degrees, to separate towards either shore in dancing
currents, and to leave the middle clear and stagnant. The set towards
either side was nearly equal; about one half of the whole water plunged
on the side of the castle, through a narrow gullet; about one half ran
ripping past the margin of the green and slipped across a babbling rapid.
‘Here,’ said Mr. Archer, after he had looked for some time at the fine
and shifting demarcation of these currents, ‘come here and see me try my
fortune.’
‘I am not like a man,’ said Nance; ‘I have no time to waste.’
‘Come here,’ he said again. ‘I ask you seriously, Nance. We are not
always childish when we seem so.’
She drew a little nearer.
‘Now,’ said he, ‘you see these two channels—choose one.’
‘I’ll choose the nearest, to save time,’ said Nance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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