Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the EmpireDoyle, Arthur Conan
History
Uncle Bernac: A Memory of the Empire
Doyle, Arthur Conan
France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction
It was nothing else than a glimpse of the moon between two flowing
clouds. This in itself might have been of small avail to me, but over
its white face was marked a long thin V, which shot swiftly across like
a shaftless arrow. It was a flock of wild ducks, and its flight was in
the same direction as that towards which my face was turned. Now, I had
observed in Kent how all these creatures come further inland when there
is rough weather breaking, so I made no doubt that their course
indicated the path which would lead me away from the sea. I struggled
on, therefore, taking every precaution to walk in a straight line, above
all being very careful to make a stride of equal length with either leg,
until at last, after half an hour or so, my perseverance was rewarded by
the welcome sight of a little yellow light, as from a cottage window,
glimmering through the darkness. Ah, how it shone through my eyes and
down into my heart, glowing and twinkling there, that little golden
speck, which meant food, and rest, and life itself to the wanderer!
I blundered towards it through the mud and the slush as fast as my weary
legs would bear me. I was too cold and miserable to refuse any shelter,
and I had no doubt that for the sake of one of my gold pieces the
fisherman or peasant who lived in this strange situation would shut his
eyes to whatever might be suspicious in my presence or appearance.
As I approached it became more and more wonderful to me that any one
should live there at all, for the bog grew worse rather than better, and
in the occasional gleams of moonshine I could make out that the water
lay in glimmering pools all round the low dark cottage from which the
light was breaking. I could see now that it shone through a small
square window. As I approached the gleam was suddenly obscured, and
there in a yellow frame appeared the round black outline of a man's head
peering out into the darkness. A second time it appeared before I
reached the cottage, and there was something in the stealthy manner in
which it peeped and whisked away, and peeped once more, which filled me
with surprise, and with a certain vague apprehension.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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