The Cornhill Magazine (Vol. I, No. 5, May 1860)Various
General
The Cornhill Magazine (Vol. I, No. 5, May 1860)
Various
England -- Periodicals; English literature -- Periodicals; Short stories, English -- Periodicals
“The youth’s temper corresponded to his habits. He was both gloomy and
passionate. Prone to anger, he had never been known to forgive. Debarred
from anything on which he had set his heart, he would have gone mad
with longing if he had not gone mad with rage. His soul was like the
night around us now, dark and sultry and silent, but lighted up by the
red levin of wrath, and torn by the bellowings of thunder passion. He
must have his will: hell might have his soul. Imagine then the rage and
malice in his heart, when he suddenly became aware that an orphan girl,
distantly related to them, who had lived with them for nearly two years,
and whom he had loved for almost all that period, was loved by his elder
brother, and loved him in return. He flung his right hand above his head,
swore a terrible oath that if he might not his brother should not, rushed
out of the house, and galloped off among the hills.
“The orphan was a beautiful girl, tall, pale, and slender, with plentiful
dark hair, which, when released from the snood, rippled down below her
knees. Her appearance consequently formed a strong contrast with that
of her favoured lover, and of course there was some resemblance between
her and the other. This fact seemed, to the fierce selfishness of the
younger, to be ground for a prior claim.
“It may seem strange that a man like him should not have had instant
recourse to his superior and hidden knowledge, by means of which he might
have got rid of his rival with far more certainty and less risk; but I
presume that for the moment his passion overwhelmed his consciousness
of skill. Yet I do not suppose that he foresaw the mode in which his
hatred was about to operate. At the moment when he learned their mutual
attachment, probably through a domestic, the lady was on her way to meet
her lover as he returned from the day’s sport. The appointed place was
on the edge of a deep rocky ravine, down in whose dark bosom brawled and
foamed a little mountain torrent. You know the place, Duncan, my dear, I
daresay.”
(Here she gave me a minute description of the spot, with directions how
to find it.)
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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