Of course there
could never have been question of friendship between us; but under the
provocation of having to keep up with his pace I began to dislike him
actively. I begged sarcastically to know whether he could tell me if we
were engaged in a farce or in a tragedy. I wanted to regulate my
feelings which, I told him, were in an unbecoming state of confusion.
But Fyne was as impervious to sarcasm as a turtle. He tramped on, and
all he did was to ejaculate twice out of his deep chest, vaguely,
doubtfully.
"I am afraid . . . I am afraid! . . . "
This was tragic. The thump of his boots was the only sound in a shadowy
world. I kept by his side with a comparatively ghostly, silent tread. By
a strange illusion the road appeared to run up against a lot of low stars
at no very great distance, but as we advanced new stretches of whitey-
brown ribbon seemed to come up from under the black ground. I observed,
as we went by, the lamp in my parlour in the farmhouse still burning. But
I did not leave Fyne to run in and put it out. The impetus of his
pedestrian excellence carried me past in his wake before I could make up
my mind.
Pages:
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92