The Convict: A TaleJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
The Convict: A Tale
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Prisoners -- Fiction
meditative and almost grave disposition; but in conversation, and on
all ordinary occasions, the look was quite different; gay, sparkling,
flashing with cheerfulness and spirit. When she sat still, the lines
of her form fell with such easy grace, and seemed so full of tranquil
beauty, that any one might have thought that the predominant character
was calm repose; but when she moved, especially under any immediate
excitement, the light elasticity of every motion changed her at once
into a different creature.
Her young companion was very different in every respect. Of a fair and
almost feminine complexion, his light hair waved gracefully over a
fine high brow, his blue eyes were soft and kindly-looking, and his
lips and nose, chiselled with the utmost delicacy, would have suited a
woman's face better than a man's. No beard or whiskers as yet gave
anything masculine to his countenance, and his slight figure and soft
satiny skin made him look still younger than he really was. To look
upon him, one would not have supposed that he had seen more than
sixteen years of age; and yet under that fair and delicate form there
were many strong and generous impulses, firm and resolute purposes,
and even a daring spirit, mingled strangely enough with a tenderness
and devotedness seldom found in the grown and experienced man, and a
degree of simplicity not at all approaching weakness, but depending
upon youth and inexperience.
"I care nothing about it, Edgar," said the lady, in a low tone, in
answer to something which the other had said; "he may come and go
whenever he pleases, without my ever giving the matter two thoughts.
You cannot tease me, cousin, for it is a matter of no interest to me,
I can assure you."
"I know better, little heretic," replied her young companion; "you
would fain have me believe, Eda, that you are as cold as ice, but I
know better. We shall see the fire kindled some day."
"Very likely," said the lady, with a smile; "but you know, Edgar, that
even that curious black stone, which seems to have been especially
given to England for the purpose of drying and warming our damp, cold
climate, smoking our ceilings and dirtying our hands, is as cold as
ice, too, till it is kindled."
"But there may be such things as concealed fires, fair cousin,"
retorted the young man, with a laugh.
The lady's cheek coloured a little, but she instantly changed the
defence into an attack, saying, almost in a whisper, and with a glance
to the gentleman reading by the fire, "I know there are, Edgar. Take
care, you bold boy, take care; for if you make war upon me, I shall
carry it into your own country."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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