The Soldier's Wife — page 61: what you’re looking at

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ought to apologize for intruding my domestic affairs upon you.” “Not at all, Davis—very far from it—I like|Gerald petulantly. to converse with you on such subjects. THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. me quite on a friendly footing with you. But, as I was observing, | shouldn’t be in a hurry, if|ladyship, “and I am sure the dews at this hour I was you, to run away yet. two. It’s only now the middle of summer; “No good, I dare say, “observed Aunt Jane “vil be to those who evil think,” exclaimed “The fact is, I like a little rejoined her Wait a week orlecannot be good for you.” " They seem to smell ver and in another month all the world will be;remarked Aunt Jane, who ( But is not Miss Lucy|of her nephew’s breath as he turned round te going to join us again this evening ?” flocking to the sea-side. “T have no doubt, if you wish it,” responded It puts|walk in the cool of the evening.” “But you remain out so late,” y much of brandy,” ad caught a whiff address her a moment back. “T hope that you don’t go down to Bushell’s Davis. “I will call her:’—and he quitted the}of an evening?” said the Baronet, looking at room, Ascending to his daughter’s chamber, he tried the door—but found it fastened. had locked herself in, that she might give free|thing into your head? Poor Lucy |snappishly. his son with mingled suspicion and alarm, “TY should rather think not,” he returned “What the deuce could put such a 1 suppose that if I vent to the tears of that anguish which had|choose to step into the dining-room as I come been excited in her bosom by the brutal allu- gion Gerald Redburn made to her absent lover. Davis knocked gently at the door—but she did! were a ehild.” not answer: for all her senses were absorbed in the depth of her affliction—and she heard not|Lady Redburn, the summons. He knocked again, and a little|says sharp things now and then; but she doesn’t in, and take a drop of cold spirits-and-water, I am not to be-questioned about it just as if J “Certainly not, my dear boy,” exclaimed louder this time. The sound, reaching her ears,|mean any harm.” startled her. “Who is it?” she said, in a voice clouded |served Aunt Jane. with mournfulness. inalow whisper. “I desire that you will come down.” “T cannot—I am not well—I am suffering.” *“Tucy, I command you to come down.” s0b reached his ears. “But you must!—it is my positive desire—|take any notice of this observation; and the my command.” “Father, I cannot—I will not.” The bailiff was about to give vent to some|Gerald continued to be a constant evening terrible threat: but it struck him that the young |visitor at Davis’s cottage. gentleman below might hear what was passing|to avoid as much as possible angering her —and he contented himself by whispering, “Disobedient girl that you are! you suffer for it.” A sound like the gushing forth of a paroxysm jheretofore the presence of the young gentle- of anguish reached him through the door: but}/man; and he, becoming if possible more and stern and implacable, he paused not to recalljmore madly in love, grew more and more: “You know that Aunt Jane “Sometimes my sharp things hit home,” ob “But Gerald hasn’t told through the fields.” you yet where he wanders on these beautiful “Tt is I—your father, Lrttey,” he responded |fine dewy evenings.” “Well, if you must know, I smoke my eigar “And you are not afraid of gipsies or rob bers?” said Aunt Jane, with something very “Father, indeed I cannot :’+—and a convulsive|much like contempt. The young gentleman did not condescend te discourse speedily flowed into another channel. Another fortnight passed, during which Lucey, still anxious father,—for there had been a terrible scena his threat—much less to proffer consolation for|pointed in his remarks. the effects of his eruel unkindness; and com- posing his features, he descended to the parlor. |tions: but this would have been to a certain “Lucy was taken unwell,” he said to Gerald ;|degree inaccurate, inasmuch as Lucy to the extent of her power avoided giving any oppor- “and that was the principal reason of her leav- ing the room so suddenly. She most respect- fully throws herself upon your kindness to/forward to his departure from the neighbor- hood as the only means of releasing her from “Tam truly sorry to hear that she is unwell,” |the ordeal through which she was every even- returned Gerald; “and I shall not fail to ecallj/ing doomed to pass; for as he had hitherto to-morrow evening, to assure myself that she is}made her no open declaration of love, she excuse her this evening.” better.” his steps to the mansion, he could not help|father had set for him. baying t> himself, “It is strange madly in love with that girl!” the Manor Ilouse, and ascended to the draw- ing-room where his father and mother, with Aunt Jane, were seated. us re quire 1 ularly every evening after coffee?” in- Lady Redburn I will make|between them on the morning after she had quitted the room so abruptly,—endured as We had almost said that he became more pointed in his atten- tunity of manifesting them. She still looked secretly hoped that he was too shrewd and He then took his leave; and while retracing} worldly-wise to fall into the snare which her But then, on the other but L am/hand, wherefore these constant visits? and wherefore, too, that satisfaction which her It was about ten o’clock when he entered|father experienced when he was there? Could © there be a secret understanding between them ? Lucy scarcely thought so; for if her father had testified any evidence of his design, would not “What is it, Gerald, that makes you leave|the young man have recoiled indignantly from being dragged into such a trap? Poor Luey- scarvely knew what to think: but she was very \ (E(0) m c 900 ; =" _ €S) co mn ae A