The Laughing Mill, And Other Stories - free ebook by Julian Hawthorne

THE LAUGHING MILL And Other Stories.

BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE. London: MACMILLAN AND CO. 1879. [ The right of Translation is reserved. ] CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS....

10 minute read

Read Chapter

PREFACE.

What is called the human interest in fiction is doubtless more absorbing than any other, but other legitimate sources of interest exist. The marvellous always possesses a fascination, and justly; for while it is neither human nature nor fact, it ministers to an æsthetic appetite of the mind which neither fact nor human nature can gratify. Superstition has been well abused; but that were a sad day which should behold the destruction in us of the quality which keeps superstition alive. Fortunately

2 minute read

Read Chapter

I.

Among the pleasantest memories of my earlier days is one of an old gabled farmhouse overlooking the sea. It is a July afternoon, calm and hot. The sea is pale blue and its surface glassy smooth; but the passage of a storm somewhere to the eastward causes long slumberous undulations to lapse shorewards. They break upon the Devil’s Ribs—that low black reef about half a mile out—and the sound is borne to our ears some seconds after the white-foam line has marked itself against the blue and vanished

8 minute read

Read Chapter

II.

“Mr. Poyntz,” said I, clasping my hands behind my head, and crossing one knee over the other, “how happens your house to be set up directly opposite the Devil’s Ribs, and at least a mile and a half from the village? It’s well enough in summer of course, but in winter, when the snow is on the ground, I should think you’d want to be nearer your butcher, not to speak of the meeting-house.” “Ay, surely!” answered Mr. Poyntz, taking the pipe from his mouth, and smoothing down the great sheaf of his b

10 minute read

Read Chapter

III.

“But, first and foremost,” continued Mr. Poyntz, after having revived his failing pipe with a dozen or so of quick whiffs, “first and foremost I must mention a queer habit he had—Scholar Gloam, I mean—and by which it was as I first came acquainted with him. As long as the sun was over the horizon line he’d stay indoors, behind the lock of his study door; but at nightfall out he’d walk, foul weather or fair, and through the wood back yonder, down across the rocky pasture to the sea, a trip of may

12 minute read

Read Chapter

IV.

The yarn broke off abruptly enough. Poyntz and I had both started to our feet, our eyes and ears straining towards the mill-stream, where little Peter had during the last hour been quietly fishing. The sound of a quick scramble, a heavy plunge, and simultaneously a lusty scream, had sharply broken the repose of the summer afternoon. “’Tis the brat has toppled in!” cried Poyntz, the sunburnt ruddiness of his complexion turning to a tawny sallow hue. “He can’t swim; haste ye lower down, sir; I’ll

8 minute read

Read Chapter

V.

I was now standing on the bank of a stream which, coming from the west, took its course past my feet eastwards. For some distance its approach was between gradually rising walls of rock, which were highest just where I stood. Thence was a precipitous descent into a small gorge about one hundred paces in length, whose steep sides opened out towards the east, their meeting-point being my present station. Through the natural gateway which it had cut for itself in the face of the precipice, the stre

8 minute read

Read Chapter

VI.

Within about three paces of me he stopped, and passed his hand two or three times through the black and white masses of his hair. He had the air of trying to rouse himself from a mood of painful preoccupation. At length he spoke in a faint, unaccented tone, like a voice heard far off. “I want your sympathy,” said he. “Have we met before?” I asked, rather taken aback. “I really don’t remember—but I believe I’ve been half asleep, and am hardly awake yet.” He shook his head slowly, his black eyes c

7 minute read

Read Chapter

VII.

They brought the yellow-haired little maiden to the mill (ran the story), and Gloam called her Swanhilda. Jael, the old housekeeper, looked at her sharply, and asked what good such a little creature could be among poor people? the girl was of no use herself, and would only hinder those who had to work. Gloam answered, “Heaven has sent her to us. She shall be our inspiration, and the symbol of our good. Treat her with reverence, and tenderly, as you would treat the best and purest aspiration of y

9 minute read

Read Chapter

VIII.

At this point in the story the voice of the narrator grew fainter and then made a pause. I still kept my reclining position, with my hands clasped above my closed eyes. In fact, it would have required a greater effort than I at the moment cared to make to have sat up and looked about me. The sun, I knew, had already sunk below the crest of the slope; the gorge lay in shadow, and beneath the oak it was almost dark. As I lay waiting for the tale to recommence, the sombre influence of the wheel ass

9 minute read

Read Chapter

IX.

Summer and winter came and went, and were followed by a gloomy and dismal spring. The late-lying snow was dissolved by heavy rains so that the mill stream was swollen beyond precedent, and rolled thundering through the gorge with the force of a full-grown cataract. But the mill was idle, and the wheel stood still. None came for flour now, nor to bring grist; for many a week all work had been foregone. Yet the house was not deserted. An elderly woman, with a forbidding face that had once been han

8 minute read

Read Chapter

X.

About sunset Jael was surprised by the beginning of a jarring and rumbling noise, the like of which had not been heard in the gorge for a number of weeks past. Half incredulous of the evidence of her own ears, she paused to listen. Certainly there was no mistake—the mill was going! She stepped to the window and looked out. Yes, there revolved the great black wheel heavily upon its axle, churning the headlong torrent into foam, and hurling the white froth from its rigid rims. As she gazed, astoni

9 minute read

Read Chapter

XI.

The next morning I was down late to breakfast. It was glorious weather, and the blue sparkle of the sea came through the open window, bringing with it a limitless inspiration of hope and wholesomeness. It was difficult to believe that there had ever been any sorrow or wrong in the world. “Ye’re not looking right hearty,” said Mr. Poyntz, with bluff geniality, while his good wife set before me a huge plate of daintily fried bacon and eggs, and a smoking cup of coffee. “Maybe ye walked a bit too f

10 minute read

Read Chapter

I.

The bitter cold weather out of doors made the cosy glow of my little library even more than usually grateful. I had carried the warm and bright anticipation of it close-buttoned under my top-coat throughout my cold drive in the hansom from the South-Western Railway Station to my rooms on the Thames Embankment. But now, as I stepped in and shut the door behind me, I found I had done it less than justice. The four comfortable walls gave a broad smile of welcome, which was multitudinously repeated

4 minute read

Read Chapter

II.

I finished my first glass of wine, poured out another, and taking up the Contemporary turned to the masterly discussion of “Unrecognisable Truths,” &amp;c. Before I had reached the close of the opening period, however, I heard the postman’s knock. I ought to have mentioned that I had been down to Richmond that afternoon—an unusual thing for me to do at that time of year. But the fact was that a distant connection of mine had died a short time before, and his effects were announced to be sold

4 minute read

Read Chapter

III.

I am something of an antiquary, and not entirely without experience of MS. older even than this appeared to be. Having convinced myself by a cursory inspection that the matter was worth looking into, I lost no time in composing myself to its perusal. It was written in Latin—a fortunate circumstance, since there was none of the difficulty attendant upon old-fashioned bad spelling to contend with. The substance of the writing consisted, so far as I was able to make out, of extracts from a number o

3 minute read

Read Chapter

IV.

Shortly before the beginning of the last century, a wealthy gentleman—let us call him A.—made a proposal for the hand of a young lady living in the neighbourhood of London, the daughter of an excellent family, though at that time somewhat reduced in circumstances, probably in consequence of political jealousies. Judging from what is said of her, this young lady—Miss B.—must have been a famous beauty; and it would not therefore be surprising if A. had met with some rivalry in his suit. To all app

11 minute read

Read Chapter

V.

I lit a fresh cigar, poured out another glass of wine, and gave myself up to meditation. Those blank spaces completely mystified me. For what other object had this lengthy transcription been made than to record A.’s “last will,” and the causes leading up to and (so far as that was possible) justifying it? Yet, on the other hand, the careful omission of every clue whereby the persons concerned might have been identified seemed to annul and stultify the laborious record of their actions. Or if the

8 minute read

Read Chapter

VI.

“There was an intermarriage between the Burleighs and the Calbots four or five generations ago,” said he; “I found the record of it in our family papers, shortly before Miss Burleigh and I were engaged; but it appears not to have turned out well. I don’t know whether the husband and wife quarrelled, or whether their troubles came from some outside interference; but they had not been long married before a separation took place—not a regular divorce, but the wife went quietly back to her fathers h

10 minute read

Read Chapter

VII.

“I did not stay long after this; and ours was a strange parting that evening, if our hearts could have been seen. We felt it a relief to separate, and yet the very relief was a finer kind of pain. We knew not what had befallen us; but, perhaps, we both had a hope, then, that another day would somehow set things right. “I only took her hand in saying good-bye; but again it seemed as if her soft fingers were not actually in contact with mine—as if some rival hand were interposed. And I noticed (as

10 minute read

Read Chapter

VIII.

“Well, Drayton, I shan’t keep you much longer. From Piccadilly we turned into Bond Street, and were walking up the side-walk on the left-hand side, when suddenly Edna stopped, and clasped both her hands round my arm. She uttered a low exclamation, and trembled perceptibly. Her face, as I looked at it, was quite rigid and colourless. I did not know what was the matter, but fearing she was about to swoon, I looked round for a cab. In so doing my eye caught my own reflection in a mirror, fixed at a

7 minute read

Read Chapter

IX.

Of my own accord I now reproduced my decanter of port-wine, and Calbot and I finished it before either of us spoke another word. What he was thinking of meanwhile I know not; for my part, I was endeavouring to put in order a number of disjointed ideas, imbibed at various epochs during this evening, whose logical arrangement, I was convinced, would go far towards elucidating much of the mystery. As to the positively supernatural part of Calbot’s experience, of course I had no way of accounting fo

10 minute read

Read Chapter

I.

“ Superb! I don’t know when I have seen finer, Tom, really!” “Ah!” said Tom, complacently handling his left whisker. “And,” he added, after a moment or two, “and thereby hangs a tale!” It was after dinner—after one of Tom Gainsborough’s snug, inimitable little dinners; only we three—Tom, his wife, and myself: and a couple of negro attendants, as well trained and less overpowering than the best of the native English stock; and that charming dining-room, just big enough, just cool enough, soft-car

2 minute read

Read Chapter

II.

“The diamonds, you must know, have been ever so long in our family. It is said they were brought from India, in the time of Marco Polo, by an ancestor of mine. But that is neither here nor there; and sure enough they were only put into their present shape quite recently. I can remember when half of them were uncut, or cut in some barbarous oriental manner, picturesque enough, but not fashionable. And some were mounted as nose-rings, some as clasps, some in the hilts of daggers, and in all sorts

11 minute read

Read Chapter

III.

“My route to Italy was rather a roundabout one. Instead of running down to Marseilles and so on viâ Civita Vecchia to Rome, I set off eastwards, and crossed Germany, passing through Cologne, Frankfort-on-the-Main, and Nuremberg; thence I proceeded to Leipzig, and at length brought up in Dresden. It was my intention to go from there southwards through Switzerland to Venice, and thus to make my approach to the Eternal City. “Dresden, however, detained me longer than I had expected. It was in Augus

14 minute read

Read Chapter

IV.

“Mr. Birchmore shook my hand cordially, yet I fancied that he betrayed signs of embarrassment or uneasiness. He seemed glad to meet me on my own account, and yet to feel constrained by my presence. Had he any reason for wishing to conceal from me the fact that he had a daughter? It now occurred to me for the first time that in her conversation with me Miss Birchmore had never alluded to her mother. Perhaps her mother was dead—had died in her child’s infancy. Perhaps the silence concerning her ar

31 minute read

Read Chapter

V.

“I saw nothing more of Kate that day; but I came across Slurk several times, and there was a peculiar look on the fellow’s countenance which made me renew my longing to chastise him. I was anxious to know whether Mr. Birchmore had returned; but, as I could not bring myself to make any inquiries of his valet, and did not care to let him see me asking anyone else, I was obliged to remain in ignorance. However, as I sat out under the trees at dusk, a tall figure, with a lighted cigar in his mouth,

4 minute read

Read Chapter

VI.

“We made a late start the next morning, and did not reach the farmhouse before four o’clock. I had little opportunity of speaking to Kate on the way; in fact, the presence of Slurk, who sat on the box of the vehicle, and once in a while threw a glance at us over his shoulder, irritated me to such a degree that more tender sentiments were temporarily pushed into the background. Kate herself, though she attempted to appear cheerful, betrayed signs of inward anxiety and nervousness; while Mr. Birch

14 minute read

Read Chapter

VII.

“But at supper there was no Kate; Mr. Birchmore and I were served by Christina, while the voices of Slurk and our landlord could be heard in the kitchen. My conversation was naturally somewhat constrained; Mr. Birchmore had a good deal to say about some excursion which he had in view for the morrow, but I failed to pay very close attention to his remarks. Once, however, I caught Christina’s eyes fixed upon me, and smiled as I remembered her warnings respecting the supposed danger of solitary ram

17 minute read

Read Chapter

VIII.

“It occurred to me next morning that, considering the nature of the work that was cut out for me, it might be prudent to depart from my usual custom by leaving the diamonds at home in Christina’s charge, as she had herself suggested; and I took the earliest opportunity of mentioning this proposal to Kate. To my surprise she at once expressed a decided dissent from the arrangement, and indeed seemed so much perturbed by it, that I at once relinquished the idea. But I begged her to tell me the rea

19 minute read

Read Chapter

IX.

This (as nearly as I can recollect it) is the story told me by my friend Tom Gainsborough, as we sat over a decanter of claret after one of his inimitable little dinners. When it was over I gave a grunt, and flung the but-end of my cigar into the grate. “There’s one thing I don’t understand about this story,” I then remarked; “and it has misled me all along. Your description of that creature, Kate—her eyes and eyebrows, complexion, hands, and nationality—all persuaded me it was the present Mrs.

2 minute read

Read Chapter

THE CHRISTMAS GUEST: A MYTH.

They were ideal young people, and lived in a fairy farmhouse, in the Eldorado of lovers. Everything went happily with them; no troublesome grown-up people thwarted or annoyed them; they could be together as much as they liked, and had never in their whole lives heard of such a thing as impropriety. They had no enemies, nor so much as a single friend with conscientious ideas of duty. In spite of all this they were remarkably content with each other and with the world at large, and never did any w

23 minute read

Read Chapter