The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 04Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 04
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century; Short stories
When I raised it again to look about me, I was aware of a light in the
pavilion. It was not stationary; but passed from one window to another
as though some one were reviewing the different apartments with a lamp
or candle. I watched it for some seconds in great surprise. When I had
arrived in the afternoon the house had been plainly deserted; now it was
as plainly occupied. It was my first idea that a gang of thieves might
have broken in and be now ransacking Northmour's cupboards, which were
many and not ill supplied. But what should bring thieves to
Graden-Easter? And, again, all the shutters had been thrown open, and it
would have been more in the character of such gentry to close them. I
dismissed the notion, and fell back upon another: Northmour himself must
have arrived, and was now airing and inspecting the pavilion.
I have said that there was no real affection between this man and me;
but, had I loved him like a brother, I was then so much more in love
with solitude that I should none the less have shunned his company. As
it was, I turned and ran for it; and it was with genuine satisfaction
that I found myself safely back beside the fire. I had escaped an
acquaintance: I should have one more night in comfort. In the morning I
might either slip away before Northmour was abroad, or pay him as short
a visit as I chose.
But when morning came I thought the situation so diverting that I forgot
my shyness. Northmour was at my mercy; I arranged a good practical jest,
though I knew well that my neighbour was not the man to jest with in
security; and, chuckling beforehand over its success, took my place
among the elders at the edge of the wood, whence I could command the
door of the pavilion. The shutters were all once more closed, which I
remember thinking odd; and the house, with its white walls and green
venetians, looked spruce and habitable in the morning light. Hour after
hour passed, and still no sign of Northmour. I knew him for a sluggard
in the morning; but, as it drew on towards noon, I lost my patience. To
say the truth, I had promised myself to break my fast in the pavilion,
and hunger began to prick me sharply. It was a pity to let the
opportunity go by without some cause for mirth; but the grosser appetite
prevailed, and I relinquished my jest with regret, and sallied from the
wood.
The appearance of the house affected me, as I drew near, with
disquietude. It seemed unchanged since last evening; and I had expected
it, I scarce knew why, to wear some external signs of habitation. But
no: the windows were all closely shuttered, the chimneys breathed no
smoke, and the front door itself was closely padlocked. Northmour
therefore had entered by the back; this was the natural, and indeed the
necessary, conclusion; and you may judge of my surprise when, on turning
the house, I found the back-door similarly secured.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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