American fiction -- 19th century; California -- Fiction; Gold mines and mining -- Fiction; Western stories
Mrs. Horncastle turned, ran up the staircase, re-entered the
sitting-room, and slamming the door behind her, halted in the centre of
the room, panting, erect, beautiful, and menacing. And she was alone in
this empty room--this deserted hotel. From this very room her husband
had left her with a brutality on his lips. From this room the fool
and liar she had tried to warn had gone to her ruin with a swindling
hypocrite. And from this room the only man in the world she ever cared
for had gone forth bewildered, wronged, and abused, and she knew now she
could have kept and comforted him.
CHAPTER IV.
When Philip Demorest left the stagecoach at the cross-roads he turned
into the only wayside house, the blacksmith's shop, and, declaring his
intention of walking over to Hymettus, asked permission to leave his
hand-bag and wraps until they could be sent after him. The blacksmith
was surprised that this “likely mannered,” distinguished-looking “city
man” should WALK eight miles when he could ride, and tried to dissuade
him, offering his own buggy. But he was still more surprised when
Demorest, laying aside his duster, took off his coat, and, slinging it
on his arm, prepared to set forth with the good-humored assurance that
he would do the distance in a couple of hours and get in in time for
supper. “I wouldn't be too sure of that,” said the blacksmith grimly,
“or even of getting a room. They're a stuck-up lot over there, and they
ain't goin' to hump themselves over a chap who comes traipsin' along
the road like any tramp, with nary baggage.” But Demorest laughingly
accepted the risk, and taking his stout stick in one hand, pressed a
gold coin into the blacksmith's palm, which was, however, declined
with such reddening promptness that Demorest as promptly reddened and
apologized. The habits of European travel had been still strong on him,
and he felt a slight patriotic thrill as he said, with a grave smile,
“Thank you, then; and thank you still more for reminding me that I am
among my own 'people,'” and stepped lightly out into the road.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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