Africa -- Fiction; Businessmen -- Fiction; Crime -- England -- Fiction; Criminals -- England -- Fiction
"You'll have my father out presently with your damned noise!" said Ezra.
"Get away, and wash your face."
His word was law to her, and she turned away, still weeping bitterly.
In her poor, dim, eventless life the sole bright spot had been the
attention which the young merchant had occasionally shown her. To her
distorted fancy he was a man among men, a hero, all that was admirable
and magnificent. What was there which she would not do for him?
She had the faithfulness of a dog, but like a dog she would snarl
fiercely at any one who came between her master's affection and herself.
Deep down in her heart rankled the one suspicion which no assurances
could remove, that an understanding existed between the man she loved
and the woman she hated. As she withdrew to her room she determined
that during this visit of Ezra's she would manage in such a way that no
communication could pass between them without her knowledge. She knew
that it was a dangerous thing to play the spy upon the young man, for he
had shown her before now that her sex was no precaution against his
brutality. Nevertheless, she set herself to do it, with all the cunning
and perseverance of a jealous woman.
As the light faded and the greys of evening deepened into darkness, Kate
sat patiently in her bare little room. A coal fire sputtered and
sparkled in the rusty grate, and there was a tin bucket full of coals
beside the fender from which to replenish it. She was very cold, so she
drew her single chair up to the blaze and held her hands over it.
It was a lonesome and melancholy vigil, while the wind whistled through
the branches of the trees and moaned drearily in the cracks and crannies
of the old house. When were her friends coming? Perhaps something had
occurred to detain them to-day. This morning such a thing would have
appeared to her to be an impossibility, but now that the time had come
when she had expected them, it appeared probable enough that something
might have delayed them. To-morrow at latest they could not fail to
come. She wondered what they would do if they did arrive. Would they
come boldly up the avenue and claim her from the Girdlestones, or would
they endeavour to communicate with her first? Whatever they decided
upon would be sure to be for the best.
She went to the window once and looked out. It promised to be a wild
night. Far away in the south-west lay a great cumulus of rugged clouds
from which dark streamers radiated over the sky, like the advance guard
of an army. Here and there a pale star twinkled dimly out through the
rifts, but the greater part of the heavens was black and threatening.
It was so dark that she could no longer see the sea, but the crashing,
booming sound of the great waves filled the air and the salt spray came
driving in through the open window. She shut it and resumed her seat by
the fire, shivering partly from cold and partly from some vague
presentiment of evil.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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