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The Dawn of A To-morrow | Frances Hodgson Burnett | |
Chapter IV |
Page 2 of 6 |
They had gone out together and were standing in the fog in the court. The curate removed his hat and passed his handkerchief over his damp forehead, his breath coming and going almost sobbingly, his eyes staring straight before him into the yellowness of the haze. "Who," he said after a moment of singular silence, "who are you?" Antony Dart hesitated a few seconds, and at the end of his pause he put his hand into his overcoat pocket. "If you will come upstairs with me to the room where the girl Glad lives, I will tell you," he said, "but before we go I want to hand something over to you." The curate turned an amazed gaze upon him. "What is it?" he asked. Dart withdrew his hand from his pocket, and the pistol was in it. "I came out this morning to buy this," he said. "I intended--never mind what I intended. A wrong turn taken in the fog brought me here. Take this thing from me and keep it." The curate took the pistol and put it into his own pocket without comment. In the course of his labors he had seen desperate men and desperate things many times. He had even been--at moments--a desperate man thinking desperate things himself, though no human being had ever suspected the fact. This man had faced some tragedy, he could see. Had he been on the verge of a crime --had he looked murder in the eyes? What had made him pause? Was it possible that the dream of Jinny Montaubyn being in the air had reached his brain--his being? He looked almost appealingly at him, but he only said aloud: "Let us go upstairs, then." So they went. |
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The Dawn of A To-morrow Frances Hodgson Burnett |
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