Her Sailor: A Love Story
Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
| Author: | Marshall Saunders | ISBN: | 9781465618467 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Marshall Saunders |
| ISBN: | 9781465618467 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
At the foot of the Danvers garden was a grassy field, and through the field ran a laughing, purling brook hurrying to join the sinuous Rubicon winding through the meadow beyond. The brook was a favourite resort of Nina’s; but now, at eleven o’clock at night, she was supposed to be in bed; and, deprived of the cheering light of her presence, her lover rambled alone on the grassy bank. No, not her lover,—her new-made husband. There had been a slight change in his plans. Thanks to his business activity and habits of despatch, he had so hurried these slow country people that he had been able to have his marriage ceremony performed on the afternoon of his day of arrival, instead of postponing it until the following morning. Now as he walked to and fro smoking and talking to himself, he chuckled delightedly. “That old white-haired magistrate looked scared. He will not get over his fright for a week. However, Nina won’t have to get up so early in the morning. We can take a later train to the city. Poor little thing,—what the dickens am I pitying her for?” and he paused, impatiently. “She’s safely married and provided for. She’s glad to get out of this—never in the world would have settled down here attached to one of these lumbering youths. Good enough fellows,” he went on, thoughtfully, “better than I am; but she’s too fine for them, too high-strung. No material for a farmer’s wife there. Now we’ll see her character unfold. I must be patient with her.” He stopped short and stared up at the sky. He had one instant of an exquisite and sympathetic comprehension of the faults and beauties in the character of a fellow creature. Then his exalted expression faded, and he shook himself, impatiently. “Pshaw! what a black expanse! A jetty pincushion stuck full of pins. Darkest night this month. So I am married,” and he resumed his walk. “Where are my complex emotions? I am only glad I’ve got her to have and to hold and to win for my wife. Curious little fox, pretending to be frightened, and giving me the cold shoulder all day. She will come around in time, and make a home for me. She’s the cutest thing in the world, as these Americans say. She will keep me amused,” and he laughed aloud, and waved his cigar like a small red torch in the darkness. “I must sell some of that railway stock,” he went on, presently, “our expenses will increase now; for once out of her nest my bird will want new feathers,” and his mind wandered off to practical and financial affairs. In the midst of his hurry through the day, he had found time to take a nap, and his sleepiness and faintness of the morning had passed away. Occasionally he glanced in the direction of the little black village gone sound asleep, where was his inn for the night; but he was not ready to go to it yet. The soft evening air allured him, and, with the luxurious appreciation of an alternate seafarer and dweller in cities, he revelled in the seldom enjoyed pleasure of a country night with its subdued and muffled noises. “Jove! I like those land smells,” he muttered, “earthy and sweet they are and unlike the sea, though for all time give me the dash of briny. And the noises—let me count them,” and he paused again and elevated one ear more than the other. “Distant dogs barking—when do the brutes sleep? Cow bawling—her calf has been taken away; owl tooting like a fog-horn. Brats of birds stirring in their nests, one fellow crowding the other—just heard them swear in twitter,” and he gazed into the sombre mass of an elm above him. “Engine shrieking—fast train for Boston. Footsteps pattering—hello! from Danvers’s house, too. Naughty Bridget—didn’t Nina say the grocer had a weakness for her fried cakes? But surely they don’t walk and talk as late as this from that exemplary household. However, I’ll not spoil her fun,” and he moved back in the shelter of the tree. A minute later he resumed his place by the stepping-stones. Dark as it was, he knew that slender, white figure emerging from the embrace of night.
At the foot of the Danvers garden was a grassy field, and through the field ran a laughing, purling brook hurrying to join the sinuous Rubicon winding through the meadow beyond. The brook was a favourite resort of Nina’s; but now, at eleven o’clock at night, she was supposed to be in bed; and, deprived of the cheering light of her presence, her lover rambled alone on the grassy bank. No, not her lover,—her new-made husband. There had been a slight change in his plans. Thanks to his business activity and habits of despatch, he had so hurried these slow country people that he had been able to have his marriage ceremony performed on the afternoon of his day of arrival, instead of postponing it until the following morning. Now as he walked to and fro smoking and talking to himself, he chuckled delightedly. “That old white-haired magistrate looked scared. He will not get over his fright for a week. However, Nina won’t have to get up so early in the morning. We can take a later train to the city. Poor little thing,—what the dickens am I pitying her for?” and he paused, impatiently. “She’s safely married and provided for. She’s glad to get out of this—never in the world would have settled down here attached to one of these lumbering youths. Good enough fellows,” he went on, thoughtfully, “better than I am; but she’s too fine for them, too high-strung. No material for a farmer’s wife there. Now we’ll see her character unfold. I must be patient with her.” He stopped short and stared up at the sky. He had one instant of an exquisite and sympathetic comprehension of the faults and beauties in the character of a fellow creature. Then his exalted expression faded, and he shook himself, impatiently. “Pshaw! what a black expanse! A jetty pincushion stuck full of pins. Darkest night this month. So I am married,” and he resumed his walk. “Where are my complex emotions? I am only glad I’ve got her to have and to hold and to win for my wife. Curious little fox, pretending to be frightened, and giving me the cold shoulder all day. She will come around in time, and make a home for me. She’s the cutest thing in the world, as these Americans say. She will keep me amused,” and he laughed aloud, and waved his cigar like a small red torch in the darkness. “I must sell some of that railway stock,” he went on, presently, “our expenses will increase now; for once out of her nest my bird will want new feathers,” and his mind wandered off to practical and financial affairs. In the midst of his hurry through the day, he had found time to take a nap, and his sleepiness and faintness of the morning had passed away. Occasionally he glanced in the direction of the little black village gone sound asleep, where was his inn for the night; but he was not ready to go to it yet. The soft evening air allured him, and, with the luxurious appreciation of an alternate seafarer and dweller in cities, he revelled in the seldom enjoyed pleasure of a country night with its subdued and muffled noises. “Jove! I like those land smells,” he muttered, “earthy and sweet they are and unlike the sea, though for all time give me the dash of briny. And the noises—let me count them,” and he paused again and elevated one ear more than the other. “Distant dogs barking—when do the brutes sleep? Cow bawling—her calf has been taken away; owl tooting like a fog-horn. Brats of birds stirring in their nests, one fellow crowding the other—just heard them swear in twitter,” and he gazed into the sombre mass of an elm above him. “Engine shrieking—fast train for Boston. Footsteps pattering—hello! from Danvers’s house, too. Naughty Bridget—didn’t Nina say the grocer had a weakness for her fried cakes? But surely they don’t walk and talk as late as this from that exemplary household. However, I’ll not spoil her fun,” and he moved back in the shelter of the tree. A minute later he resumed his place by the stepping-stones. Dark as it was, he knew that slender, white figure emerging from the embrace of night.
