The Little Ball O' Fire; or, the Life and Adventures of John Marston Hall: The Works of G. P. R. James, Vol. XV.James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
History
The Little Ball O' Fire; or, the Life and Adventures of John Marston Hall: The Works of G. P. R. James, Vol. XV.
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
France -- History -- Louis XIV, 1643-1715 -- Fiction
The morning was as warm and bright as that of the preceding day; and a
feeling of painful curiosity impelled me directly towards the spot
where the accident had occurred on the night before. I followed the
exact path which I had pursued with Madame de Villardin, and as I
turned from the lateral alley where we had met the Duke, into the
short path which led to the broken bridge, I suddenly saw the form of
Father Ferdinand standing at the very point to which I was directing
my steps. He turned round as I approached, and without any apparent
surprise beckoned me towards him. I walked on at once; and for two or
three minutes after I had come up, we stood gazing together in silence
upon all that remained of the wooden arch which had there spanned
across the river, and which I myself had passed over on horseback not
five days before. Very little of it was now to be seen, for full
twelve feet of the centre had fallen into the river and had been
carried away; but enough still remained attached to the piles at the
sides to show, in some degree, the manner of the accident, though not
the cause. The nails which had fixed the cross supports to the rafters
had either given way or had been drawn out; and the two main beams
which upheld the whole, having been deprived of everything that
strengthened them, had broken at the side nearest the château, and,
dragged down by their own weight from the piles on the other bank of
the river, had fallen with the rest of the wood-work into the current,
and been carried away.
A part, however, of one of them remained, as I have said, attached to
the side where we stood; and after contemplating the whole for some
time in silence, the Priest laid his hand upon my arm, as he saw my
eyes fixed upon the broken beams, and he asked, in a tone half stern,
half sorrowful, "Do you remark nothing there, my son?"
I stooped down and looked more closely, but still kept silence; and he
added, "Then I will ask you, in plainer terms, do you not perceive the
marks of a saw?"
"I am afraid I do," replied I, rising up.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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