The Laughing Mill, and Other StoriesHawthorne, Julian
Philosophy
The Laughing Mill, and Other Stories
Hawthorne, Julian
American fiction -- 19th century
contest were at all events narrowing themselves down to recognisable
form. It was to be a trial of strength mainly between myself and
Slurk--between an educated plucky Englishman, and a base German
ruffian--between one, moreover, who had right, moral and legal, on his
side, and love as his goal--and one armed only with underhand cunning
and terrorism, and aiming at nothing higher than the extortion of money.
This was the way I read the situation, and I flattered myself that I was
equal to the emergency.
"Upon consideration, however, I decided to alter my intention of asking
Mr. Birchmore about his valet. It was tolerably clear that he was not in
a position to give me any information; and besides, I had already learnt
everything except the particulars. Those particulars, if I did not
succeed in discovering them unaided, must be extracted from Kate. She
would not withhold them from me, if I questioned her resolutely and
directly, enforcing my inquiries with disclosure of the knowledge I
had already obtained. This then should be my next step. I sealed up my
letters, locked them in my desk, and, it being now nearly seven o'clock,
I went down to supper.
VII.
"But at supper there was no Kate; Mr. Birchmore and I were served by
Christina, while the voices of Slurk and our landlord could be heard in
the kitchen. My conversation was naturally somewhat constrained; Mr.
Birchmore had a good deal to say about some excursion which he had in
view for the morrow, but I failed to pay very close attention to his
remarks. Once, however, I caught Christina's eyes fixed upon me, and
smiled as I remembered her warnings respecting the supposed danger of
solitary rambles.
"After supper I felt more restless than ever. Mr. Birchmore brought
out his invariable cigars, expecting me to join him in a smoke; but I
was not in the mood for it, neither did I feel at ease in his company
until things should have begun to look a little more comprehensible.
I left him, therefore, and wandered aimlessly about outside the house,
exploring the farmyard and buildings, and then coming round to the road,
and pacing up and down on a beat about a quarter of a mile in length. It
was a clear moonlight night, and so warm as to be almost oppressive. At
length I returned to the house, it being then after nine o'clock. Mr.
Birchmore had apparently retired; Christina was nowhere to be seen;
so I got a lamp from my surly landlord, and found my way without much
difficulty to my own chamber.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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