Contemptible, of course! Vanity of vanities! But
how infinitely precious is even such vanity as this to those who stand
outside!
The rain was beginning to patter through the trees. It would be a wet
night. With his collar turned up to his ears, he trudged forward. He
cared little for the rain. For twelve long years he had lived an outdoor
life.
There were no lights visible in his own abode. The old woman who kept
his house was doubtless gossiping with some crony up at the castle.
With his hand on the garden gate, he looked back at its distant, shining
front. Then, with a shrug, as if impatient with himself for lingering,
he turned to walk up the short, flagged pathway that led to his own
door.
At the same instant a cry of pain--a woman's cry--came sharply through
the dripping stillness of the trees. He turned back swiftly, banging the
gate behind him.
A long slope rose, tree-covered, from the other side of the road. He
judged the sound to have come from that direction, and he hurried
towards it with swinging strides. Reaching the deep shadow, he paused,
peering upwards.
At once a voice he knew called to him, but in such accents of agony that
he hardly recognised it.
"Oh, come and help me! I'm here--caught in a trap! I can't move!"
In a moment he was crashing through the undergrowth with the furious
recklessness of a wild animal.
"I am coming! Keep still!" he shouted as he went.
Pages:
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70