'I am sorry,' he said, after a moment; 'this is worse than I imagined; it's
impossible.'
'It is you that are impossible, Tregellan,' said Sebastian Murch. He looked
at him now, quite frankly, absolutely: his eyes had a defiant light in
them, as though he hoped to be criticised; wished nothing better than to
stand on his defence, to argue the thing out. And Tregellan sat for a long
time without speaking, appreciating his purpose. It seemed more monstrous
the closer he considered it: natural enough withal, and so, harder to
defeat; and yet, he was sure, that defeated it must be. He reflected how
accidental it had all been: their presence there, in Ploumariel, and the
rest! Touring in Brittany, as they had often done before, in their habit of
old friends, they had fallen upon it by chance, a place unknown of Murray;
and the merest chance had held them there. They had slept at the _Lion
d'Or_, voted it magnificently picturesque, and would have gone away and
forgotten it; but the chance of travel had for once defeated them. Hard by
they heard of the little votive chapel of Saint Bernard; at the suggestion
of their hostess they set off to visit it. It was built steeply on an edge
of rock, amongst odorous pines overhanging a ravine, at the bottom of
which they could discern a brown torrent purling tumidly along.
Pages:
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130