Detective and mystery stories, English; Police -- Fiction; Short stories
My mission over, I proposed to retrace my steps immediately, but
unfortunately found myself detained in the island for nearly a week by
the hurricane-weather which suddenly set in, rendering it impossible for
the mail or other steam-packets to cross the Channel during its
continuance. Time limped slowly and heavily away; and frequently, in my
impatience to be gone, I walked down to the bleak pier, and strained my
eyes in the direction in which the steamer from Jersey _should_ appear.
Almost every time I did so I encountered two persons, who, I could see,
were even more impatient to be gone than myself, and probably, I
thought, with much more reason. They were a widow lady, not certainly
more than thirty years of age, and her son, a fine curly-haired boy,
about eight or nine years old, whose natural light-heartedness appeared
to be checked, subdued, by the deep grief and sadness which trembled in
his mother's fine expressive eyes, and shrouded her pale but handsome
face. He held her by the hand; often clasping it with both his tiny
ones, and looking up to her as she turned despondingly away from the
vacant roadstead and raging waters, with a half-frightened,
half-wondering expression of anxious love, which would frequently cause
his mother to bend down, and hurriedly strive to kiss away the sorrowful
alarm depicted in the child's face. These two beings strangely
interested me; chiefly perhaps because, in my compelled idleness, I had
little else except the obstinate and angry weather to engage my
attention or occupy my thoughts. There was an unmistakable air of
'better days' about the widow--a grace of manner which her somewhat
faded and unseasonable raiment rendered but the more striking and
apparent. Her countenance, one perceived at the first glance, was of
remarkable comeliness; and upon one occasion that I had an opportunity
of observing it, I was satisfied that, under happier influences than
now appeared to overshadow her, those pale interesting features would
light up into beauty as brilliant as it was refined and intellectual.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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