The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863Morford, Henry
History
The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863
Morford, Henry
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
The dusky cheek of the lawyer was full of red blood in an instant. He had
been overheard, then, in his half-mad rhapsody to Rowan and himself. And
_she_ had heard him, of all women!--_she_ had spoken with such frankness,
not to say boldness, and that frankness appreciation at least, if not
admiration! He might have uttered something more about "taking his chances"
then, and had full warrant for the self-gratulation!
"I do not suppose that I can tell you either what I saw or felt," said
Townsend, when that momentary flush had died away a little from his face.
"I will try, however. I had been rolling ten-pins till past eleven, and it
must have been midnight when I strolled down towards the Lake. I was in
hopes that I should find no one here, for I wished to see it alone as well
as by moonlight; and I had my wish. I saw no one and heard no one, on my
way to the Lake or while here; and I do not suppose that any foot but my
own pressed the damp green velvet that bordered the edge, or that any eye
except my own and the All-seeing one that looks down over all the world at
all midnights, saw the placid sheet lying in its solemn repose, with the
shadows of the great cliff yonder reflected on its bosom, and here and
there a little ripple as a puff of wind sighed through the branches, kissed
the silver surface and passed over."
The eyes of the speaker were full of humid light as he spoke, and at least
one of the company marked the influence which seemed to be upon him--a mood
of high imagination, sometimes seen in the ardent lovers of nature when
revelling in their chosen study, and though less dangerous not less decided
than the madness which habitually fell upon Saul. There was something
fascinating in it, to all who saw and heard, even to those who held an
intuitive dislike to the seer: what must the fascination have been to
Margaret Hayley, who remembered one so unlike in personal appearance and
yet so like in voice and apparently in habits of mind, loving nature so
intently and describing it with the same fervor, while his love for _her_
made a sacred undertone to all and completed the charm of look and word!
The lawyer needed no further urging, but went on:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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