The House on the Moor, v. 1/3Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
The House on the Moor, v. 1/3
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fiction
Horace did not look at him in return; but there was an animation and
eagerness unusual to it in his face--he was following out in
imagination, not a young man's vague, ambitious dreams, but a chain of
elaborate researches after the one secret which he could not discover,
and which haunted him night and day. "I do!" he exclaimed, with an
emphasis of sincerity and earnestness which delighted the Colonel, who
seized him by the hand, and promised, over and over again, to leave no
exertion untried which could obtain him his wish. Horace responded to
this with the best appearance of gratitude and cordiality which he could
manage to show, but with, in reality, a great indifference. He had no
hope whatever from his uncle's mediation, and was forming other and
secret plans in his own mind for his own object, which was not the same
as Colonel Sutherland's; for he did not dream of success in the
profession which he was about to choose, or of "scope for his talents,"
or any of those natural ambitions which occurred to the old soldier--but
had entirely concentrated his underground and cavernous thoughts upon
this new and unthought of mode, of carrying his personal inquiries out.
Having settled this matter to his great satisfaction, Colonel Sutherland
walked to the window and contemplated the weather: it had ceased to
rain, but the chill, damp, penetrating atmosphere was as ungenial as
ever; the roads were wretched, and he shuddered involuntarily to think
of that bare and miserable moor. However, the Colonel had already been
three days at Tillington; and did not admire his quarters sufficiently
to remain longer than he could help. Then this interview with his
brother-in-law, being eminently disagreeable, would be well over. He
hesitated, looked wistfully at his good fire, and with melancholy eyes
at the dark sky without; but, at last, taking courage, buttoned on his
great-coat, threw his cloak round him, took his stick in his hand, and
thus defended from cold and violence, took his way once more, Horace by
his side, to Marchmain.
CHAPTER XIX.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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