The Man-at-Arms; or, Henry De Cerons. Volumes I and IIJames, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
General
The Man-at-Arms; or, Henry De Cerons. Volumes I and II
James, G. P. R. (George Payne Rainsford)
Huguenots -- Fiction
But there was much to be thought of, there was much to be done. "What
course," I asked myself, "shall I choose what plans shall I pursue?"
And much I meditated even these matters, but meditated always alone:
for there was none whom I could consult, none in whom I could confide.
To Monsieur la Tour, who loved me as his own son, I would not speak of
the matter at all, for I knew that he would oppose my going; and my
cousin himself, of course, I did not choose to consult; for the proud
air of contempt with which he had long treated me, made me feel that
his advice could not be such as I could follow without pain; and any
assistance that he offered could only be an indignity to receive. I
was utterly ignorant of the world, and of the world's ways; and
though, perhaps, I was not deficient in natural acuteness, yet life
was to me an unknown country, full of thick woods and tangled paths,
without a map to show me the road or a guide to direct my footsteps
aright.
Although it was now the winter-time, and the sere leaves had fallen
from the trees, leaving the woods thin and naked, yet it was in the
forest which came near to the chateau that I loved to take my way and
dream of my future prospects.
An event, however, occurred one day, which deranged all these plans
for the time, and suspended their execution for more than two years. I
had gone out, as usual, on foot, and wandered a considerable way into
the wood, when suddenly, as I was walking up and down, gazing upon the
icy bondage of the stream, and the feathery frost upon the rushes and
other water plants, I heard what seemed a loud but distant cry of
distress.
It struck me instantly that the voice was a familiar one; and,
crossing the stream, I rushed on like lightning to the spot whence it
seemed to proceed. There I found the eldest of my cousin's sons,
Charles, a noble and high-spirited, but somewhat weakly boy, thrown
down upon the ground by an immense wolf, whose fangs were fixed in his
shoulder. The animal, it seems, had sprung at his throat, and knocked
him down by the force of its attack; but, even in falling, the boy,
with noble presence of mind, had struck the animal with his dagger,
and prevented it from taking the fatal grasp which it sought, and
which certainly would have terminated his existence before I arrived.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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