Sir Isumbras at the FordBroster, D. K. (Dorothy Kathleen)
General
Sir Isumbras at the Ford
Broster, D. K. (Dorothy Kathleen)
English fiction -- 20th century; Historical fiction
Employment, of whatever kind, was exactly the tonic needed by the
child at the moment. He picked up the nearly empty basket of food
and followed the émigré, who carried the water-keg and the compass.
The sea whispered up the side of the rock, lifting the seaweed.
"Be very careful," adjured La Vireville over his shoulder. "Here
we are. I expect you have never been in a cave before?"
Only just above high-water mark, of a slit-like entrance so narrow
that La Vireville, stooping, could only just squeeze through, and
with even this entrance partly screened by a projecting rock, the
cave opened out within to respectable proportions. The Chevalier
de la Vireville had not, in fact, been guided, in his choice of
a landing-place, entirely by the fact of his mishap, which made
an immediate haven a necessity, nor by the knowledge that the
soldiers on the cliff might very possibly come along in pursuit.
The thought of this very spot had visited his mind once or twice
earlier on the voyage.
Anne hesitated a moment, rather daunted by the darkness, so La
Vireville set down his burdens and took him by the hand.
"It will soon get lighter," he said cheerfully. "Come and sit
down by me." He disposed his own long legs with some haste upon
the sandy floor, for his head was swimming so much that he feared
to fall.
Anne came willingly enough and nestled up to him. "We are quite
safe now, are we not, M. le Chevalier?"
"Quite," said Fortuné, with his arm round him. "And I think the
best thing we could do would be to go to sleep, don't you, nephew?"
"I am in effect very sleepy," said Anne, leaning his head against
him with a sigh. A moment's silence, and he went on, in a changed
voice, as if against his will, "I was frightened . . . there was
blood . . . you too, and the fisherman----"
"Of course you were frightened for a moment," interrupted the
émigré, holding him tighter. "But listen, my little pigeon, and
I will explain it all. The soldiers on the cliff fired at us, as
you know, and a bullet hit François the fisherman, and because
it hurt him very much, he fainted--you understand? At the same
time your uncle got a blow on the head from another bullet, which
hit the mast first and then knocked him down. But, you see, he is
quite recovered now. In the same way, when François had lain down
a little in the bottom of the boat he felt better again, and after
you and I had got out of her he was able to sail her back home;
for, you know, with this wind and in the daylight we should never
have got to Jersey to-day. We shall go at night, when the soldiers
can't see us. So you see, mon petit, that there is nothing to be
alarmed at now, and as for hearing shots and seeing . . . a little
blood . . . you must remember that you too will fight for the
King some day!"
"Yes," said the little boy. "Unless I write a big book like Grandpapa."
"Well, whatever you do, you must never let yourself be frightened."
"I suppose that you and Papa are never frightened?" deduced Anne.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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