"Melancholy, learned, and sentimental," said Christie to herself, as
she settled David's character after these discoveries.
The sound of a bell made her hasten down, more curious than ever to
see if this belief was true.
"Perhaps thee had better step out and call my son. Sometimes he does
not hear the bell when he is busy. Thee will find my garden-hood and
shawl behind the door," said Mrs. Sterling, presently; for
punctuality was a great virtue in the old lady's eyes.
Christie demurely tied on the little pumpkin-hood, wrapped the gray
shawl about her, and set out to find her "master," as she had a
fancy to call this unknown David.
From the hints dropped by Mr. Power, and her late discoveries, she
had made a hero for herself; a sort of melancholy Jaques; sad and
pale and stern; retired from the world to nurse his wounds in
solitude. She rather liked this picture; for romance dies hard in a
woman, and, spite of her experiences, Christie still indulged in
dreams and fancies. "It will be so interesting to see how he bears
his secret sorrow. I am fond of woe; but I do hope he won't be too
lackadaisical, for I never could abide that sort of blighted being."
Thinking thus, she peeped here and there, but saw no one in yard or
barn, except a workman scraping the mould off his boots near the
conservatory.
Pages:
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268