Who Was Lost and Is Found: A NovelOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
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Who Was Lost and Is Found: A Novel
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Criminals -- Fiction; Mothers and sons -- Fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
She went out of the room before her maid. She would not seem jealous, or
to grudge Janet’s ready and joyful greeting. She went into the little
dining-room, and began to arrange the table with her own hands. “Go you
quick and put the chicken to the fire,” she said. Was she glad to escape
from his presence, from Robbie, her long absent son, her only child? All
the time she went quickly about, putting out the shining silver, freshly
burnished, as it was Saturday; the fresh linen, put ready for Sunday;
the best plates, part of the dinner-service that was kept in the
dining-room. “This will do for the cold things,” she said; “and oh, make
haste, make haste with the rest!” Then she took out the two decanters
of wine, the port and the sherry, which nobody drank, but which she had
always been accustomed to keep ready. The bread was new, just come in
from the baker’s, everything fresh, the provisions of the Saturday
market, and of that instinct which prepares the best of everything for
Sunday--the Sabbath--the Lord’s day. It was not the fatted calf, but at
least it was the best fare that ever came into the house, the Sunday
fare.
Then she went back to him in the other room: he had not followed her,
but sat just as she had left him, his head on his breast. He roused up
and gave a startled look round as she came in, as if there might be some
horrible danger in that peaceful place. “Your supper is ready,” she
said, her voice still tremulous. “Come to your supper. It is nothing but
cold meat to begin with, but the chicken will soon be ready, Robbie:
there’s nothing here to fear----”
“I know,” he said, rising slowly: “but if you had been like me, in
places where there was everything to fear, it would be long before you
got out of the way of it. How can I tell that there might not be
somebody watching outside that window, which you keep without shutter or
curtain, in this lonely little house, where any man might break in?”
He gave another suspicious glance at the window as he followed her out
of the room. “Tell Janet to put up the shutters,” he said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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