The Master of Appleby: A Novel Tale Concerning Itself in Part with the Great Struggle in the Two Carolinas; but Chiefly with the Adventures Therein of Two Gentlemen Who Loved One and the Same LadyLynde, Francis
History
The Master of Appleby: A Novel Tale Concerning Itself in Part with the Great Struggle in the Two Carolinas; but Chiefly with the Adventures Therein of Two Gentlemen Who Loved One and the Same Lady
Lynde, Francis
Historical fiction; Love stories; North Carolina -- Fiction; South Carolina -- Fiction; Triangles (Interpersonal relations) -- Fiction
At that I capped the candles, and, taking post in the deep bay of the
window, set myself to watch for the lighting of the great room at the
front. This had two windows on my side, and while I could not see them,
I knew that I should see the sheen of light upon the lawn.
The night was clear but moonless, and the thick-leafed masses of the
oaks and hickories rose a wall of black to curtain half the hemisphere
of starry sky. As always in our forest land, the hour was shrilly vocal,
though to me the chirping din of frogs and insects hath ever stood for
silence. Somewhere beyond the thicket-wall an owl was calling
mournfully, and I bethought me of that superstition--old as man, for
aught I know--of how the hooting of an owl betokens death. And then I
laughed, for surely death would come to one or more of those beneath my
father's roof within the compass of the night.
Behind the close-drawn curtain, though I could see it not, the virgin
forest darkened all the land; and from afar within its secret depths I
heard, or thought I heard, the dismal howling of the timber wolves.
Below, the house was silent as the grave, and this seemed strange to me.
For in the time of my youth a wedding was a joyous thing. Yet I would
remember that these present times were perilous; and also that my
bridegroom captained but a little band of troopers in a land but now
become fiercely debatable.
It must have been an hour or more before the sound of distance-muffled
hoofbeats on the road broke in upon the chirping silence of the night. I
looked and listened, straining eye and ear, hearing but little and
seeing less until three shadowy horsemen issued from the curtain-wall of
black beneath my window.
It was plain that others watched as well as I, for at their coming a
sheen of light burst from the opened door below, at which there were
sword-clankings as of armed men dismounting, and then a few low-voiced
words of welcome. Followed quickly the closing of the door and silence;
and when my eyes grew once again accustomed to the gloom, I saw below
the horses standing head to head, and in the midst a man to hold them.
"So!" I thought; "but three in all, and one of them a servant. 'Twill be
a scantly guested wedding." And then I raged within again to think of
how my love should be thus dishonored in a corner when she should have
the world to clap its hands and praise her beauty.
At that, and while I looked, the lawn was banded farther on by two
broad beams of light; and then I knew my time was come.
Feeling my way across the darkened chamber I softly tried the
door-latch. It yielded at the touch, but not the door. I pulled and
braced myself and pulled again. 'Twas but a waste of strength. The door
was fast with that contrivance wherewith my father used to bar me in
what time I was a boy and would go raccooning with our negro hunters. My
enemy was no fool. He had been shrewd enough to lock me in against the
chance of interruption.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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