United States or Bolivia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"We will do whatever you tell us, monsieur," they answered. From the first streak of dawn Urie, the blacksmith and worker in iron, had with the assistance of Jacques been busily fashioning the new keys. It was a troublesome business, and evening was again approaching when I succeeded in entering my old home.
I wish to discover if there is anything by which we can identify the stranger." Urie and I went out together, but the keenest search failed to help us. The dead man's horse had disappeared, and his assailants had left no trace behind them. I questioned the villagers closely, but none could throw any light on the tragedy.
"She is beautiful," she would tell me, "and merry and a great lady, and I think any man will be loving her," but there were many nights when Margaret lay wide-eyed, for all that she drove Bryde from her with jest and laughter. But I think it was well that she never kent of the meeting of Bryde and Helen Stockdale at the ford in the burn yonder at the foot of the Urie.
We also looked at the galley or sloop belonging to the fort, which sails upon the Loch, and brings what is wanted for the garrison. Captains Urie and Darippe, of the 15th regiment of foot, breakfasted with us. They had served in America, and entertained Dr. Johnson much with an account of the Indians. He said, he could make a very pretty book out of them, were he to stay there.
He might have been own brother to the poor fellow whom Urie had found by the wood. He was short but strongly built; his face was scarred; his skin red and rough through continual exposure to the weather. He carried a sword and a long knife, and a pair of pistols peeped from the holsters. Plainly he was a man accustomed to take his life in his hand. "You have ridden fast!"
"Let Urie bring an iron bar," he laughed, "and a man need wear a thick steel cap to save his skull!" I went to bed hoping to obtain a good night's rest, but the startling tragedy had weakened my nerves more than I guessed, and I lay awake a long time, wondering what the secret was that the dead man had carried with him to the grave. Was he really a messenger from L'Estang?
"That need not keep us out long," said Jacques, "we can easily get fresh ones made in the morning; Urie will see to that." "Has Etienne Cordel been in the village lately?" I asked. "He is always here, monsieur," cried the old man with an angry outburst; "he collects the money for the crown, and acts as if he were the rightful owner. He gives himself as many airs as if he were some great lord!"
Is it possible for him to recover?" "Quite impossible, my son," exclaimed the curé; "he is dying fast; no surgeon could do anything for him. The wonder is that he has lived so long. He has been fearfully hurt." "Did you meet no strange persons in the village?" I asked Urie. "Not a soul, monsieur. It was very early; the villagers were not yet about, and the road was empty."
There are always bright fires there, and hot water, and old soft leather armchairs, and an aroma of good food and good tobacco, and giant trout in glass cases, and pictures of Captain Barclay of Urie walking to London and Mr. Ramsay of Barnton winning a horse-race, and the three-volume edition of the Waverley Novels with many volumes missing, and indeed all those things which an inn should have.
And there was no way of getting at the rascal! He laid his plots with so much skill that I could accuse him of nothing. I had no real proofs against him, and without proofs he could laugh in my face. The story of the attempt on my life quickly spread abroad, and the villagers came in a crowd to learn if I had been injured. "Who are the villains, monsieur?" cried Urie.
Word Of The Day