Sea and Shore: A Sequel to "Miriam's Memoirs"Warfield, Catherine A. (Catherine Ann)
General
Sea and Shore: A Sequel to "Miriam's Memoirs"
Warfield, Catherine A. (Catherine Ann)
Fiction
My resolution was promptly taken. The folding leaves of the inner
door--that which divided the marble-paved vestibule from the carpeted
entry--against one of which I had been leaning, I well knew worked to
and fro on pulleys which obeyed the drawing of a cord and tassel hanging
at one side, and thus they could readily be closed with a touch by any
one standing in the vestibule as they opened out into the hall on which
side was the latch and bolt. I recalled this quaint arrangement with a
quickness born of emergency, as one that might serve me now, and
speadily possessed myself of the tassel at the extremity of the
controlling cord. Thus armed, and praying inwardly for strength and
courage, and wherewith to carry out my scheme successfully, I took my
stand in one of the two niches (just large enough for the purpose) in
the door-frame, preferring, of course, that next to the lock, prepared
to darken the vestibule at the first approach of the expected guest (I
was afraid to do it before, lest attention might be called to it from
within the house), and make my escape by rushing past him ere he could
recover himself as he entered in the gloom.
The hazard was extreme, the result uncertain, the effort almost
foolhardy, it may be thought; but the storm and darkness were in my
favor, and I was fleet of foot, as were not all of my pursuers, as far
as I could foresee who these might be.
Momently I grew cooler, more determined, more calm, more desperate, more
regardless of consequences; and now the culmination of endeavor
approached in the shape of the sound of stamping feet upon the icy
platform of the steps which they had softly ascended, and the uncertain
fitting of a dead-latch key in its dark socket, the feeling for the knob
with half-frozen fingers, and finally the sudden and violent throwing
forward and open of the door into the darkened vestibule, for I had
drawn the cord at the first symptoms of Gregory's advent, which yet took
me by surprise. I had closed the inner doors, it is true, but paralyzed
with sudden terror I had taken no advantage of the darkness thus evoked,
and, as the tall form of the expected and expectant bridegroom staggered
in, literally blown forward by the tempest, with introverted umbrella,
and wet and streaming garments (dimly discerned in the gloom) that
brushed against me as he passed, I continued to stand transfixed to
stone in the niche I still occupied.
The dream in which La Vigne had prophesied my failure flashed over me
like lightning, and my knees trembled beneath me, yet I still clung
spasmodically to the cord I held, and with such desperate force that,
when Gregory pushed against the door, he believed it latched within, and
so desisted from further effort.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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