Winefred: A Story of the Chalk CliffsBaring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
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Winefred: A Story of the Chalk Cliffs
Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
English fiction
'I could get none that suited me.'
'Well! There is no more understanding the fancies of boys than the
whimsies of girls. There is Winefred Marley, or as she is pleased to
call herself, Holwood, gone off to be a fine lady at Bath. We shall
hear next of her marrying some fine gentleman, and when he comes to
learn who and what she is, there will be the deuce to pay. However, she
has a tongue that can parry as well as lunge.'
Jack stood up.
'I cannot remain here,' he said. 'I have no stomach for ale; moreover,
Captain Ford expects me at Beer.'
'Well, go along with you, boy, and may you soon sicken of sawing stone
and take to cutting the waves.'
Beer village or hamlet was to be reached by one or two ways. There was
the road, which was the shortest, that ran along a dip in the land,
between green hedges; and there was the way by the White Cliff, that
was pleasantest but longest. Jack chose the latter, solely because
it was unfrequented, and in his then mood he was indisposed for
conversation.
What ailed him?
He had at length obtained that for which he had been in search, and
for which he had chafed: work, and work eminently suitable, work,
moreover, sufficiently well paid to support him. He was entering the
service of a master who, if he possessed a tithe of his sister's good
qualities, would be to him a friend and a father. He had accordingly
every reason to be elated. On the contrary he was depressed.
What ailed him?
Undoubtedly he felt his loneliness, yet he was not so lonely as he had
been, for Mrs. Jose had been a good friend to him, and had enlisted for
him the sympathies of her brother. There is such a sensation in a young
breast as home-sickness without a home for which to be sick; it is a
vague yearning and regret after something unknown, undefined.
The young spirit is like young wheat――it grows weak, watery, yellow,
there has been overmuch rain, overmuch cold. All it needs is the sun.
That which burrowed in his heart like a mole was the thought of
Winefred's treatment of him. He could understand that there was
occasion for it. On his account she and her mother had suffered great
annoyance, had undergone wounding suspicion. They had been sent to
Coventry by the neighbourhood. Winefred was sensitive to the slights
she had encountered, and held him to have been prime mover in the
combination against her mother and herself. It was natural that she
should regard him with resentment, and yet, that she should do so,
knowing as he did that he had personally done nothing to stir up the
hostile feeling against her and her mother, distressed him greatly.
Now that Winefred had departed he ought to have felt relieved. There
was no further chance of an encounter in which he always came off
worsted. Yet he was not so.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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