England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Science fiction; Time travel -- Fiction
Monteith, for his part, sat down a little way off with folded arms on
another sarsen-stone, fronting her. The strange and unearthly scene
they had just passed through impressed him profoundly. For the first few
minutes a great horror held him. But his dogged Scottish nature still
brooded over his wrongs, in spite of the terrible sight he had so
unexpectedly evoked. In a way, he felt he had had his revenge; for had
he not drawn upon his man, and fired at him and killed him? Still, after
the fever and torment of the last few days, it was a relief to find,
after all, he was not, as this world would judge, a murderer. Man and
crime were alike mere airy phantoms. He could go back now to the inn and
explain with a glib tongue how Mr. Ingledew had been hurriedly called
away to town on important business. There was no corpse on the moor,
no blabbing blood to tell the story of his attempted murder: nobody
anywhere, he felt certain in his own stolid soul, would miss the
mysterious Alien who came to them from beyond the distant abyss of
centuries. With true Scotch caution, indeed, even in the midst of his
wrath, Robert Monteith had never said a word to any one at Brackenhurst
of how his wife had left him. He was too proud a man, if it came to
that, to acknowledge what seemed to him a personal disgrace, till
circumstances should absolutely force such acknowledgment upon him. He
had glossed it over meanwhile with the servants and neighbours by saying
that Mrs. Monteith had gone away with the children for their accustomed
holiday as always in August. Frida had actually chosen the day appointed
for their seaside journey as the fittest moment for her departure with
Bertram, so his story was received without doubt or inquiry. He had
bottled up his wrath in his own silent soul. There was still room,
therefore, to make all right again at home in the eyes of the world--if
but Frida was willing. So he sat there long, staring hard at his wife
in speechless debate, and discussing with himself whether or not to make
temporary overtures of peace to her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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