Adventure stories; Great Britain -- History -- Charles II, 1660-1685 -- Fiction; Historical fiction
After some trouble, therefore, I could see the old man's face more
plainly. I saw that he was very old and looked dirty and unkempt beyond
relief, his hair being in tangled wisps over his shoulders, while his
beard seemed to wellnigh reach his waist. But old as he was there were
no signs of decrepitude. His movements were quick and decided. His hands
were steady, while there was an eager look on his face. His eyes were
wellnigh hidden by his huge overhanging forehead and his bushy eyebrows,
but as far as I could judge his sight was not dim.
No sooner had he entered than he was followed by another form. This I
saw in spite of the badly made glass, but who it was I was not sure. It
might have been a man, or a woman--I could not tell.
"The night is cold, come near the fire."
I heard these words plainly, but that was practically all I did hear
during the time I was there. As I have said, the tree on which I was
perched was twenty yards from the window, and except on this one
occasion nearly everything was said in a low voice.
But his words enabled me to see who the other occupant of the room was,
for at his behest the woman whom I had accompanied almost all the way
from Folkestone town came to a part in the room where I could see her
plainly. She had thrown off her headgear, and the heavy cloak which she
had worn, and when I saw her there I wondered more than ever what
business she could have with this old man. I have said that I thought
she was young when I saw her at first, but in the light of the candle
which fell straight upon her face she did not look more than nineteen
years old. Her hair had been disarranged by her journey, but I saw that
it lay in curling richness over her head. In colour it was glossy
brown, which was very near chestnut around the temples. Her features
seemed to me the most noble I had ever gazed upon. It reminded me more
of what I had read of the old Greek goddesses than of an Englishwoman.
Every feature was clearly cut, and but for the look which seemed to me
like despair which gleamed from her eyes, and rested on her face, I
thought she would be beautiful beyond any one I had ever seen.
Presently they both drew near the fireplace, and both stood within the
range of my vision at the same time. Then the strangeness of the
situation came to me more vividly than ever. The old man with his long
tangled locks of white hair, his head sunk in between his shoulders, his
long beard wellnigh reaching the middle of his body, and with eager
angry looks flashing from his deep sunk eyes, and the woman young and
beautiful, her face clearly outlined, but pale as death, her hair like a
flashing nimbus around her head, and her eyes fixed on the strange
specimen of humanity before her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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