Red Spider, Volume 2 (of 2)Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
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Red Spider, Volume 2 (of 2)
Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
English fiction -- 19th century
’A corpse-light came up the lane and danced on the doorstep last night,’
said Mrs. Veale. ’And you are thinking of marrying! "I’d better have
left things as they were," said the man who scalded his dog to clear it
of fleas. The spider spread for a midget and caught a hornet. "Marry
come up," said the mote (tree-stump), "I will wed the flame;" so she
took him, embraced him, and——’ Mrs. Veale stooped to the hearth, took
up a handful of light wood-ash, and blew it in her master’s face from
her palm, then said, ’Ashes, remain.’
The ensuing night the house was disturbed. Taverner Langford was ill,
complaining of violent sickness, cramps, and burning in the throat. He
must have a doctor sent for from Okehampton.
’Get a doctor’s foot on your floor and he leaves his shoes,’ said Mrs.
Veale. ’No, wait till morning. If you’re no better then we will send.’
’Go out of my room,’ shouted Taverner to the farm men and maids who had
crowded in. His calls and hammerings with the stick had roused everyone
in the house. ’Do you think I am going to die because I’m took with
spasms? Mrs. Veale is enough. Let her remain.’
’I reckon I caught a chill standing in the damp church with the smell of
the vaults in my nose,’ said Taverner, sitting in his chair and
groaning. ’I felt the cold rise.’
’It is waiting,’ remarked Mrs. Veale,
’What is waiting?’ he asked irritably.
’The corpse-candle; I see it on the doorstep. And you that should be
considering to have the bell tolled ordering a wedding peal! Those who
slide on ice must expect falls, and elephants mustn’t dance on
tight-ropes. Rabbits that burrow in bogs won’t have dry quarters. The
fox said, "Instead of eating I shall be eaten," when, seeking a
hen-roost, he walked into a kennel.’
*CHAPTER XXXV.*
*A WARNING.*
The day was wet; a warm south-westerly wind was breathing, not blowing,
and its breath was steam, a steam that condensed into minute
water-drops. The thatch was dripping. The window panes were blind with
shiny films of moisture. There had been dry weather for the haysel,
glorious weather, and now, just when wanted, the earth was bathed in a
cloud. It would be inaccurate to say that it rained. It rained only
under the eaves and beneath the trees; the earth was taking a vapour
bath.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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