Uncle Silas eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 618 pages of information about Uncle Silas.

’Pray, who made this key?  It is a new one, and made expressly to pick this lock.’

But Madame was not going to tell any more than she had expressly bargained for; so she only fell once more into her old paroxysm of sorrow, self-reproach, extenuation, and entreaty.

‘Well,’ said my father,’ I promised that on surrendering the key you should go.  It is enough.  I keep my word.  You shall have an hour and a half to prepare in.  You must then be ready to depart.  I will send your money to you by Mrs. Rusk; and if you look for another situation, you had better not refer to me.  Now be so good as to leave me.’

Madame seemed to be in a strange perplexity.  She bridled up, dried her eyes fiercely, and dropped a great courtesy, and then sailed away towards the door.  Before reaching it she stopped on the way, turning half round, with a peaked, pallid glance at my father, and she bit her lip viciously as she eyed him.  At the door the same repulsive pantomime was repeated, as she stood for a moment with her hand upon the handle.  But she changed her bearing again with a sniff, and with a look of scorn, almost heightened to a sneer, she made another very low courtesy and a disdainful toss of her head, and so disappeared, shutting the door rather sharply behind her.



Mrs. Rusk was fond of assuring me that Madame ’did not like a bone in my skin.’  Instinctively I knew that she bore me no good-will, although I really believe it was her wish to make me think quite the reverse.  At all events I had no desire to see Madame again before her departure, especially as she had thrown upon me one momentary glance in the study, which seemed to me charged with very peculiar feelings.

You may be very sure, therefore, that I had no desire for a formal leave-taking at her departure.  I took my hat and cloak, therefore, and stole out quietly.

My ramble was a sequestered one, and well screened, even at this late season, with foliage; the pathway devious among the stems of old trees, and its flooring interlaced and groined with their knotted roots.  Though near the house, it was a sylvan solitude; a little brook ran darkling and glimmering through it, wild strawberries and other woodland plants strewed the ground, and the sweet notes and flutter of small birds made the shadow of the boughs cheery.

I had been fully an hour in this picturesque solitude when I heard in the distance the ring of carriage-wheels, announcing to me that Madame de la Rougierre had fairly set out upon her travels.  I thanked heaven; I could have danced and sung with delight; I heaved a great sigh and looked up through the branches to the clear blue sky.

But things are oddly timed.  Just at this moment I heard Madame’s voice close at my ear, and her large bony hand was laid on my shoulder.  We were instantly face to face—­I recoiling, and for a moment speechless with fright.

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Uncle Silas from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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