Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
We moved away at a brisk round pace, possessed with the thought of
putting a long distance between us and our foes. And in the pleasure
of having come together again we walked lightly and easily for long
enough, not heeding the way, nor the wind, nor the threat of the
rainclouds and the dark evening. We rejoiced in the exquisite sense of
our comradeship, and in the thought that every step we took together
was a contribution to our freedom. We came out of the park again, and
went on and on, past the houses of Kensington, and then past straggling
and remoter places, the names of which I did not know.
In a surprisingly little while, as it seemed to us, sunk in the
obsession of our companionship, we were groping in the unlit darkness
of the country lanes, with the lights of the town we had left fading
away behind us. But we must have been walking considerably more than
two hours, and at a smart pace, to judge by the distance we had made.
It was then that I pressed Cynthia's hand and says:
"Are you not tired, little one?"
"Nay," says she, "my feet are slipping by so light, I do not know that
I am walking. I could journey on all night in this way."
I was vastly gratified by this brave speech. But for myself, although
I too had no weariness, and to be sure I could not have confessed to it
if I had, I was yet being bitten very severely by the pangs of hunger.
All day I had taken nothing beyond a glass or two of wine. Therefore I
now felt a pressing need.
"At least," says I, "I hope you are hungry?"
"Well, since you mention it," says she, "I think I am."
"That is well," says I, "for I am most abominably so. I believe I
never was so hungry in my life before; and I am sure I never had
scantier means of appeasing it. Only conceive of twelvepence halfpenny
to the two of us for our board and lodging."
It now became our business to find an inn of the meaner sort, in which
we might invest this munificent sum. But as we had long since left the
bricks and mortar of the town behind, a house for our entertainment was
not so easily come by.
We walked on and on, but still no welcome inn appeared; and presently
the lamps of the great city itself had vanished, till we were left in
the utter darkness of the country lanes. There was no evidence of a
human habitation anywhere about, and we knew not where we were.
By this time both of us were tired as well as most bitterly hungry.
Poor little Cynthia hung so heavily on my arm, that I knew fatigue had
mastered her. Yet so brave she was, that despite all the pains and
difficulties she endured, she would not admit that she was weary.
Indeed, when I asked her to confess it, says she: "Nay, not I," as
stoutly as she would have done three hours before. Yet when we came to
a bank of earth beside the way, and I bade her rest upon it for a
little while she could raise no very great objection.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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