The Adventures of Harry Richmond — Volume 3Meredith, George
General
The Adventures of Harry Richmond — Volume 3
Meredith, George
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction
Neither of us, they said, had made a bad choice, but why had we
separated? She snatched her hand out of mine with a grin of anger like
puss in a fury. We had wonderful fun with her. They took her to a great
house near the race-course, and there, assisted by one of the young
ladies, dressed her in flowing silks, and so passed her through the gate
of the enclosure interdicted to bare feet. There they led her to groups
of fashionable ladies, and got themselves into pretty scrapes. They said
she was an Indian. Heriot lost his wagers and called her a witch. She
replied, 'You'll find I'm one, young man,' and that was the only true
thing she spoke of the days to come. Owing to the hubbub around the two
who were guilty of this unmeasured joke upon consequential ladies, I had
to conduct her to the gate. Instantly, and without a good-bye, she
scrambled up her skirts and ran at strides across the road and through
the wood, out of sight. She won her dress and a piece of jewelry.
With Heriot I went on a sad expedition, the same I had set out upon with
Temple. This time I saw my father behind those high red walls, once so
mysterious and terrible to me. Heriot made light of prisons for debt.
He insisted, for my consolation, that they had but a temporary
dishonourable signification; very estimable gentlemen, as well as scamps,
inhabited them, he said. The impression produced by my visit--the
feasting among ruined men who believed in good luck the more the lower
they fell from it, and their fearful admiration of my imprisoned father
--was as if I had drunk a stupefying liquor. I was unable clearly to
reflect on it. Daily afterwards, until I released him, I made journeys
to usurers to get a loan on the faith of the reversion of my mother's
estate. Heriot, like the real friend he was, helped me with his name to
the bond. When my father stood free, I had the proudest heart alive; and
as soon as we had parted, the most amazed. For a long while, for years,
the thought of him was haunted by racketballs and bearded men in their
shirtsleeves; a scene sickening to one's pride. Yet it had grown
impossible for me to think of him without pride. I delighted to hear
him. We were happy when we were together. And, moreover, he swore to me
on his honour, in Mrs. Waddy's presence, that he and the constable would
henceforth keep an even pace. His exuberant cheerfulness and charming
playfulness were always fascinating. His visions of our glorious future
enchained me. How it was that something precious had gone out of my
life, I could not comprehend.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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