The Old Stone House and Other Stories — John Shaqi
The Old Stone House and Other StoriesGreen, Anna Katharine
General
The Old Stone House and Other Stories
Green, Anna Katharine
Detective and mystery stories, American
"No man you should say," quoth Orrin bitterly, lashing his horse till
it shot far ahead of me, so that some few minutes passed before we
were near enough together for him to speak again. Then he said: "She
loads me with promises and swears that she loves me more than all the
world. If half of this is true she ought to be happy with me in a
hovel, while I have a dainty cottage for her dwelling, where the vines
will soon grow and the birds sing. You have not seen it since it has
been finished. You shall see it to-night."
I choked as I tried to answer, and wondered if he had any idea of what
I had to contend with in these rides I seemed forced to take without
any benefit to myself. If he had, he was merciless, for once launched
into talk he kept on till I was almost wild with hateful sympathy and
jealous chagrin. Suddenly he paused.
The forest we had been threading had for the last few minutes been
growing thinner, and as the quick cessation in his speech caused me to
look up, I saw, or thought I saw, a faint glow shining through the
branches before me, which could not have come from the reflection
made by the setting sun, as that had long ago sunk into darkness.
Orrin who, as he had ceased speaking, had suddenly reined in his
panting horse, now gave a shout and shot forward, and I, hardly
knowing what to fear or expect, followed him as fast as my evidently
weary animal would carry me, and thus bounding along with but a few
paces between us, we cleared the woods and came out into the open
fields beyond. As we did so a cry went up from Orrin, faintly echoed
by my own lips. It was a fire that we saw, and the flames, which had
now got furious headway, rose up like pillars to the sky, illuminating
all the country round, and showing me, both by their position and the
glare of the stream beneath them, that it was Orrin's house which was
burning, and Orrin's hopes which were being destroyed before our eyes.
The cry he gave as he fully realized this I shall never forget, nor
the gesture with which he drove his spurs into his horse and flashed
down that long valley into the ever-increasing glare that lighted
first his flowing hair and the wet flanks of the animal he bestrode,
and finally seemed to envelop him altogether, till he looked like some
avenging demon rushing through his own element of fury and fire.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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