The Strand Magazine, Vol. 01, January 1891: An Illustrated MonthlyVarious
General
The Strand Magazine, Vol. 01, January 1891: An Illustrated Monthly
Various
English literature -- Periodicals; Short stories, English -- Periodicals
We walked down the rocky path in such a manner that I cannot understand
how I failed to break my neck. Then we turned sharply to the right, as
the blind boy had done the night before. The moon was not yet up. Two
little stars, like the fires of lighthouses, relieved the darkness. The
agitated waves lifted and let fall in regular cadence a solitary boat
close to the shore.
"Get in," she said. I hesitated, for I confess that I have not the least
taste for sentimental excursions on the sea. But it was impossible to
refuse. She leapt into the bark, I followed her, and off we went.
"What does all this mean?" I said getting angry.
"It means," she replied, making me sit down on a bench, and putting her
arms round my waist, "it means that I love you." Her burning cheek was
close to mine, and I felt her hot breath on my face. Suddenly I heard
something fall into the water. Instinctively my hand went to my belt.
The pistol was no longer there!
[Illustration: "I THREW HER INTO THE SEA."]
A horrible suspicion seized me. The blood rushed to my brain. I looked
at her. We were far from the shore and I could not swim. I tried to
escape from her embrace, but she clung to me like a cat, and almost
succeeded by a sudden jerk in throwing me out of the boat, which was
already on one side. I contrived, however, to restore the equilibrium;
and then began, between my perfidious companion and myself, a desperate
struggle, in which I employed all my strength, while feeling that the
abominable creature was overcoming me by her agility.
"What do you mean?" I said to her, squeezing her little hands so tightly
that I heard her fingers crack; but whatever pain I may have caused her
she did not utter a word. Her reptile nature could not thus be overcome.
"You saw us," she cried at last. "You want to denounce us." Then by a
rapid and violent effort she threw me down. Her body and mine were now
bending over the side of the frail craft, and her hair was in the water.
The moment was a critical one. I got up on my knees, took her with one
hand by the hair, with the other by the throat, and when I had at last
compelled her to unclutch my clothes, I threw her into the sea.
Twice her head reappeared above the foaming waves. Then I saw her no
more.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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