The Yarn of Old Harbour TownRussell, William Clark
General
The Yarn of Old Harbour Town
Russell, William Clark
English fiction -- 20th century; Historical fiction; Sea stories
He listened, then knocked, knocked again, and receiving no reply,
inserted the key, turned the handle and entered. This was the berth set
aside for the Captain, though as a matter of fact in Merchant vessels
the Captain used to occupy almost invariably the aftermost starboard
berth. It was plainly, but comfortably, furnished, the bedstead was
like those ashore, and such as in former times Spanish ships chiefly
were equipped with. It had a chest of drawers and a washstand in
combination, and a table in the middle, at which sat Miss Lucy Acton.
Her hands were clasped before her and rested on the table. She shot a
swift glance under her beautiful eyelids at the incomer, then looked
down upon her hands with a gaze which for motionlessness might have
been riveted, though nothing was to be seen of her eyes under their
lovely drooping clothing of lids and lashes. She was plainly dressed
in a gown whose waist was just under her bosom. In some such a gown,
or in some such attire she was wont of an early spring or summer
morning to amuse herself in the flower gardens, or to take walks,
occasionally remaining to breakfast at some poor neighbour's house.
The only conspicuous feature of her apparel was a hat lately introduced
from Paris and much affected by the fashionable ladies of London and
other parts of this country. I speak of it as a hat: it was in truth
a jockey-bonnet made of lilac-coloured silk decorated in front with a
bunch of fancy flowers, and on top was a lace veil that hung gracefully
down the back.
Mr Lawrence stood viewing her in silence for a few moments, and then
approaching the table so that he stood close to her, he said in a voice
of tenderness:
"Miss Acton--Lucy--my Lucy: for my Lucy you have ever been in my
heart since the day when I asked you to be my wife, and you know--but
you must believe--that my adoration of you then has not waned by a
single ray of its brilliance--nay, the flame is greater and purer and
more glowing than it was in that hour in which you refused my hand,
not because you could not love me, nor because you believed the half
of what had been told you about me, but because I was in too great
a hurry. I had not given you time to find me out and love me as I
believe, as I am sure you now do. Oh, my Lucy, this act of seeming
treason against you will be forgiven. Your heart will acknowledge that
violent as might seem the step I have taken, by no other could we have
been brought together, and all the artifices and all the falsehoods I
have been guilty of were, you will come to believe, the inspiration of
such a love as few men ever felt for the women of their worship."
He knelt on one knee by her side and tried to take her hand. She
started from her chair and recoiled some paces. On which he rose and
stood towering in his figure and gazing at her, but with a face whose
beauty could not have been more perfected than by the expression of the
emotion of his heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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