The Smuggler of King's Cove; or, The Old Chapel Mystery — John Shaqi
The Smuggler of King's Cove; or, The Old Chapel MysteryCobb, Sylvanus
General
The Smuggler of King's Cove; or, The Old Chapel Mystery
Cobb, Sylvanus
Smugglers -- Fiction
Her mistress stood, drinking in the scene in awestruck silence. The
sublimity of the view was too great for her poor speech to do it
justice. And Percy was also silent. The single interjection had burst
from him as his eyes first took in the grand panorama, and that was all.
The sea; the many islands; the long stretch of rugged coast; the
beautiful park; the old castle; the forest; the silvery lakelets, and
the sparkling streams--altogether, it was a picture well worth climbing
to see. Cordelia gazed her fill--gazed until the first whelming emotions
of awe were past, and then pointed out certain points with regard to
which she wished for information. Her guide explained all he could--told
her all he knew; and at length suggested that they had better be
thinking of home.
“But the flowers! You promised me I should have them,” insisted
Cordelia. She was playful in her manner, yet earnest.
“Will you take time for that, lady? They are somewhat out of our way;
but you shall have them, if you say so.”
“Oh! never mind the time. A little twilight won’t harm us. Let’s have
the flowers.”
Evidently she was determined to prolong the walk, and, had it not been
for those threatening clouds, her guide would have liked it as well as
she.
“Dear lady--I tell you, truly, I do not like the looks of those clouds.
I’m afraid we shall have rain before we get home, unless we make all
possible haste.”
But the lady insisted; and the guide yielded. A detour was made to the
eastward and the flowers found and secured. Cordelia was happy.
She had wanted the sweet little treasures of scent and blossom for a
long time, and she could not thank her kind guide enough for his
goodness in getting them for her.
“Fifteen minutes of six!” said Percy, in a tone of hushed anxiety. “Oh!
what would I give for a good horse.”
“And, what would you do with a single horse, sir?” the lady demanded,
quickly.
“I would look to the girths, make sure all was secure, then lift you to
its back and start you homeward, my lady.”
“But, dear Percy, do you really feel so uneasy about the weather?”
“I do, truly, dear lady. Look for yourself. If there is not a goodly
store of electricity in those clouds, then I am much mistaken.”
“Well, we must hurry. You will let me take your hand.”
He put forth his hand, took hers in a warm, loving grasp, and they set
forward; but time had sped beyond the lady’s calculations, or beyond her
belief, for she had had no calculation about it.
By the time they had gained half the distance down the rugged slope cool
gusts of wind struck their cheeks; the clouds had become so dense and so
completely covered the firmament as to bring night on prematurely.
And that was not the worst. Pretty soon a vivid stream of fire shot
athwart the dark vault, and a crash of thunder followed almost
immediately.
“Courage, courage!” said Percy. “The old chapel is close at hand. We
shall find good shelter there.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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