Christian fiction; Neighborhoods -- Scotland -- Fiction
of no instruction or edification without the foregoing appetite. Now my
Constance had begun to ask me questions, and it made me very happy. We
had thus come a long way nearer to each other; for however near the
affection of human animals may bring them, there are abysses between
soul and soul--the souls even of father and daughter--over which they
must pass to meet. And I do not believe that any two human beings alive
know yet what it is to love as love is in the glorious will of the
Father of lights.
I linger on with my talk, for I shrink from what I must relate.
We were going at a gentle trot, silent, along a woodland path--a brown,
soft, shady road, nearly five miles from home, our horses scattering
about the withered leaves that lay thick upon it. A good deal of
underwood and a few large trees had been lately cleared from the place.
There were many piles of fagots about, and a great log lying here and
there along the side of the path. One of these, when a tree, had been
struck by lightning, and had stood till the frosts and rains had bared
it of its bark. Now it lay white as a skeleton by the side of the path,
and was, I think, the cause of what followed. All at once my daughter's
pony sprang to the other side of the road, shying sideways; unsettled
her so, I presume; then rearing and plunging, threw her from the saddle
across one of the logs of which I have spoken. I was by her side in a
moment. To my horror she lay motionless. Her eyes were closed, and when
I took her up in my arms she did not open them. I laid her on the moss,
and got some water and sprinkled her face. Then she revived a little;
but seemed in much pain, and all at once went off into another faint. I
was in terrible perplexity.
Presently a man who, having been cutting fagots at a little distance,
had seen the pony careering through the wood, came up and asked what he
could do to help me. I told him to take my horse, whose bridle I had
thrown over the latch of a gate, and ride to Oldcastle Hall, and ask
Mrs. Walton to come with the carriage as quickly as possible. "Tell
her," I said, "that her daughter has had a fall from her pony, and is
rather shaken. Ride as hard as you can go."
The man was off in a moment; and there I sat watching my poor child,
for what seemed to be a dreadfully long time before the carriage
arrived. She had come to herself quite, but complained of much pain in
her back; and, to my distress, I found that she could not move herself
enough to make the least change of her position. She evidently tried to
keep up as well as she could; but her face expressed great suffering:
it was dreadfully pale, and looked worn with a month's illness. All my
fear was for her spine.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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