The House on the Moor, v. 1/3Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
The House on the Moor, v. 1/3
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fiction
In the study, just risen up from his chair, Mr. Scarsdale received his
visitor; he scarcely made a step forward to meet him, but he shook him
coldly by the hand. They stood there together, two strangely different
men--the recluse standing bolt upright, with his wide dressing gown
falling off from his spare figure, and his book open on the table--cold,
self-absorbed, in a passion of unnatural stillness; the soldier, with
his tall stooping figure, his deaf ear bending with that benign and kind
humility which made the infirmity a grace, and his anxious countenance
afraid to lose a word of anything that might be said to him. Mr.
Scarsdale's greetings were few and hurried; he asked when he returned,
and how he had travelled, and then, reaching a chair which happened to
be within arm's length, begged that Colonel Sutherland would sit down,
in a tone which plainly signified that the request itself was a favour.
Colonel Sutherland did so, looking at him with a strange
wistfulness--and then, reseating himself, his host spoke.
"Since you have come to Marchmain, I have something to say to you at the
commencement of what I suppose you will call our renewed intercourse. I
will deal with you frankly. I should not have ventured to invite, if you
had left it to me, a man of your tastes and feelings here."
"I can guess as much," said Colonel Sutherland, with a passing, angry
blush.
"I should not," said Mr. Scarsdale, coldly; "because my establishment is
very limited. I live in great seclusion, and I remember that you are a
lover of society, and what is called cheerfulness. But you _have_ come,
and yours is the responsibility if our life oppresses you. And one thing
I would say; I do not fear your discretion, having warned you. You are
aware of the very peculiar circumstances under which I stand--you know,
in short, the blight of my life. Pshaw! why speak of it, or give it a
name?--you know, of course, thanks to your sister's frankness, exactly
what I mean. Now this, I beg you to observe, is totally unknown to my
children: my son is not aware of his advantage over his father. I do not
mean that he shall be, until," added Mr. Scarsdale, with a ghastly
smile, "until the time of his triumph approaches; but, in the meantime,
I have to request that you will not think of extending to these young
people a confidence which I do not wish them to possess."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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