|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 24
He stopped, trembling, body and soul, under the hold that his own
terrible superstition had fastened on him. Crayford drew back in
silent horror. Wardour noticed the action--he resented it--he
appealed, in defense of his one cherished conviction, to
Crayford's own experience of him.
"Look at me!" he cried. "Look how I have lived and thriven, with
the heart-ache gnawing at me at home, and the winds of the icy
north whistling round me here! I am the strongest man among you.
Why? I have fought through hardships that have laid the
best-seasoned men of all our party on their backs. Why? What have
_I_ done, that my life should throb as bravely through every vein
in my body at this minute, and in this deadly place, as ever it
did in the wholesome breezes of home? What am I preserved for? I
tell you again, for the coming of one day--for the meeting with
one man."
He paused once more. This time Crayford spoke.
"Richard!" he said, "since we first met, I have believed in your
better nature, against all outward appearance. I have believed in
you, firmly, truly, as your brother might. You are putting that
belief to a hard test. If your enemy had told me that you had
ever talked as you talk now, that you had ever looked as you look
now, I would have turned my back on him as the utterer of a vile
calumny against a just, a brave, an upright man. Oh! my friend,
my friend, if ever I have deserved well of you, put away these
thoughts from your heart! Face me again, with the stainless look
of a man who has trampled under his feet the bloody superstitions
of revenge, and knows them no more! Never, never, let the time
come when I cannot offer you my hand as I offer it now, to the
man I can still admire--to the brother I can still love!"
The heart that no other voice could touch felt that appeal. The
fierce eyes, the hard voice, softened under Crayford's influence.
Richard Wardour's head sank on his breast.
"You are kinder to me than I deserve," he said. "Be kinder still,
and forget what I have been talking about. No! no more about me;
I am not worth it. We'll change the subject, and never go back to
it again. Let's do something. Work, Crayford--that's the true
elixir of our life! Work, that stretches the muscles and sets the
blood a-glowing. Work, that tires the body and rests the mind. Is
there nothing in hand that I can do? Nothing to cut? nothing to
carry?"
The door opened as he put the question. Bateson--appointed to
chop Frank's bed-place into firing--appeared punctually with his
ax. Wardour, without a word of warning, snatched the ax out of
the man's hand.
"What was this wanted for?" he asked.
"To cut up Mr. Aldersley's berth there into firing, sir."
"I'll do it for you! I'll have it down in no time!" He turned to
Crayford. "You needn't be afraid about me, old friend. I am going
to do the right thing. I am going to tire my body and rest my
mind."
The evil spirit in him was plainly subdued--for the time, at
least. Crayford took his hand in silence; and then (followed by
Bateson) left him to his work.
Chapter 10.
Ax in hand, Wardour approached Frank's bed-place.
"If I could only cut the thoughts out of me," he said to himself,
"as I am going to cut the billets out of this wood!" He attacked
the bed-place with the ax, like a man who well knew the use of
his instrument. "Oh me!" he thought, sadly, "if I had only been
born a carpenter instead of a gentleman! A good ax, Master
Bateson--I wonder where you got it? Something like a grip, my
man, on this handle. Poor Crayford! his words stick in my throat.
A fine fellow! a noble fellow! No use thinking, no use
regretting; what is said, is said. Work! work! work!"
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|