Adventure stories; England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
The deep crimson in Cynthia's cheeks, that her late eminent exertions
had induced, lent her even more of an adorable appearance than even I
had ever observed in her. And when she tossed me my cloak, and gravely
gave one of the posies into my hands, I think I never saw the eyes of a
woman beam with such mirth and high spirits. Flushed and breathless as
we were, no two human persons could possibly have been happier.
Already our haphazard, vagrant life had proved the antidote of that
weariness of the world, that fatigue of mind and body, the chains of
polite life had induced. Already we had come to take a fraternal
pride, as it were, in one another. We no longer had to apprehend how
we should get through the day without perishing of weariness, but
rather how to pass it without perishing of hunger and violence. And we
were revealing such unexpected qualities to ourselves and each other in
overcoming these calamities that we were falling in love anew with our
own heroic attributes, and were already prepared to vow to one another
that we were a monstrous well-assorted pair. Indeed, the foolish bull
had given us such a fine conceit of ourselves, that on the score of the
hour of high-wrought happiness he brought us, he must, I am sure, be
allowed after all to be our friend.
A good deal of walking through the blossoming fields brought us at last
on to a good broad highway, and a little later having climbed up a
hill, we saw from the top of it the thing we were seeking. A village
nestled below, and very properly the tallest roof among the collection
that clustered there together, and by far the most imposing object of
them all, was a sweet little country church, grey with age, surrounded
by a low stone wall whose crannies were filled with moss. Approaching
it we were overjoyed to find that a pretty little parsonage stood
beside it, which in every particular matched the quaint and venerable
appearance of the church itself. But no sooner had we come to the
latticed gate of the parson's house than our pleasure fled suddenly
away. We had been bold enough in the contemplation of the deed, and
had even been disposed to treat it airily. Yet when our fingers fell
on the parson's latch, we were suddenly confronted with its magnitude.
We were going to be married!
Now although I had started from town not twelve hours before as cynical
and desperate a character as any to be found, the humane influences
that had been brought to bear upon me, even in that short period, had
not been without their effect. I began to see things in their true
relation once again, and even to be sensible of feelings I had so long
outlived that I almost forgot that I had ever known them. For
instance, the emotion of timidity that overtook me at the parson's
gate, I could have sworn I had never met with before in my life. The
uncomfortable sense of the bashful business to follow caused me to
falter with my hand still at the latch, and to parley with Cynthia.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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