THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST
CHAPTER I
THE SINS OF THE FATHER ARE VISITED ON THE CHILDREN
The January afternoon was passing into night, the air was cold and
still, so still that not a single twig of the naked beech-trees stirred;
on the grass of the meadows lay a thin white rime, half frost, half
snow; the firs stood out blackly against a steel-hued sky, and over the
tallest of them hung a single star. Past these bordering firs there ran
a road, on which, in this evening of the opening of our story, a young
man stood irresolute, glancing now to the right and now to the left.
To his right were two stately gates of iron fantastically wrought,
supported by stone pillars on whose summits stood griffins of black
marble embracing coats of arms, and banners inscribed with the device
_Per ardua ad astra_. Beyond these gates ran a broad carriage drive,
lined on either side by a double row of such oaks as England alone can
produce under the most favourable circumstances of soil, aided by the
nurturing hand of man and three or four centuries of time.
At the head of this avenue, perhaps half a mile from the roadway,
although it looked nearer because of the eminence upon which it was
placed, stood a mansion of the class that in auctioneers' advertisements
is usually described as "noble." Its general appearance was Elizabethan,
for in those days some forgotten Outram had practically rebuilt it; but
a large part of its fabric was far more ancient than the Tudors,
dating back, so said tradition, to the time of King John. As we are
not auctioneers, however, it will be unnecessary to specify its many
beauties; indeed, at this date, some of the tribe had recently employed
their gift of language on these attractions with copious fulness and
accuracy of detail, since Outram Hall, for the first time during six
centuries, was, or had been, for sale.
Suffice it to say that, like the oaks of its avenue, Outram was such
a house as can only be found in England; no mere mass of bricks
and mortar, but a thing that seemed to have acquired a life and
individuality of its own. Or, if this saying be too far-fetched and
poetical, at the least this venerable home bore some stamp and trace
of the lives and individualities of many generations of mankind, linked
together in thought and feeling by the common bond of blood.
The young man who stood in the roadway looked long and earnestly towards
the mass of buildings that frowned upon him from the crest of the hill,
and as he looked an expression came into his face which fell little, if
at all, short of that of agony, the agony which the young can feel at
the shock of an utter and irredeemable loss. The face that wore such
evidence of trouble was a handsome one enough, though just now all the
charm of youth seemed to have faded from it. It was dark and strong, nor
was it difficult to guess that in after-life it might become stern. The
form also was shapely and athletic, though not very tall, giving promise
of more than common strength, and the bearing that of a gentleman who
had not brought himself up to the belief that ancient blood can cover
modern deficiencies of mind and manner. Such was the outward appearance
of Leonard Outram as he was then, in his twenty-third year.
While Leonard watched and hesitated on the roadway, unable, apparently,
to make up his mind to pass those iron gates, and yet desirous of doing
so, carts and carriages began to appear hurrying down the avenue towards
him.
"I suppose that the sale is over," he muttered to himself. "Well, like
death, it is a good thing to have done with."
Then he turned to go; but hearing the crunch of wheels close at hand,
stepped back into the shadow of the gateway pillar, fearing lest he
should be recognised on the open road. A carriage came up, and, just as
it reached the gates, something being amiss with the harness, a footman
descended from the box to set it right. From where he stood Leonard
could see its occupants, the wife and daughter of a neighbouring squire,
and overhear their conversation. He knew them well; indeed, the younger
lady had been one of his favourite partners at the county balls.
"How cheap the things went, Ida! Fancy buying that old oak sideboard for
ten pounds, and with all those Outram quarterings on it too! It is as
good as an historical document, and I am sure that it must be worth at
least fifty. I shall sell ours and put it into the dining-room. I have
coveted that sideboard for years."
The daughter sighed and answered with some asperity.
"I am so sorry for the Outrams that I should not care about the
sideboard if you had got it for twopence.
"1030700638"
THE SINS OF THE FATHER ARE VISITED ON THE CHILDREN
The January afternoon was passing into night, the air was cold and
still, so still that not a single twig of the naked beech-trees stirred;
on the grass of the meadows lay a thin white rime, half frost, half
snow; the firs stood out blackly against a steel-hued sky, and over the
tallest of them hung a single star. Past these bordering firs there ran
a road, on which, in this evening of the opening of our story, a young
man stood irresolute, glancing now to the right and now to the left.
To his right were two stately gates of iron fantastically wrought,
supported by stone pillars on whose summits stood griffins of black
marble embracing coats of arms, and banners inscribed with the device
_Per ardua ad astra_. Beyond these gates ran a broad carriage drive,
lined on either side by a double row of such oaks as England alone can
produce under the most favourable circumstances of soil, aided by the
nurturing hand of man and three or four centuries of time.
At the head of this avenue, perhaps half a mile from the roadway,
although it looked nearer because of the eminence upon which it was
placed, stood a mansion of the class that in auctioneers' advertisements
is usually described as "noble." Its general appearance was Elizabethan,
for in those days some forgotten Outram had practically rebuilt it; but
a large part of its fabric was far more ancient than the Tudors,
dating back, so said tradition, to the time of King John. As we are
not auctioneers, however, it will be unnecessary to specify its many
beauties; indeed, at this date, some of the tribe had recently employed
their gift of language on these attractions with copious fulness and
accuracy of detail, since Outram Hall, for the first time during six
centuries, was, or had been, for sale.
Suffice it to say that, like the oaks of its avenue, Outram was such
a house as can only be found in England; no mere mass of bricks
and mortar, but a thing that seemed to have acquired a life and
individuality of its own. Or, if this saying be too far-fetched and
poetical, at the least this venerable home bore some stamp and trace
of the lives and individualities of many generations of mankind, linked
together in thought and feeling by the common bond of blood.
The young man who stood in the roadway looked long and earnestly towards
the mass of buildings that frowned upon him from the crest of the hill,
and as he looked an expression came into his face which fell little, if
at all, short of that of agony, the agony which the young can feel at
the shock of an utter and irredeemable loss. The face that wore such
evidence of trouble was a handsome one enough, though just now all the
charm of youth seemed to have faded from it. It was dark and strong, nor
was it difficult to guess that in after-life it might become stern. The
form also was shapely and athletic, though not very tall, giving promise
of more than common strength, and the bearing that of a gentleman who
had not brought himself up to the belief that ancient blood can cover
modern deficiencies of mind and manner. Such was the outward appearance
of Leonard Outram as he was then, in his twenty-third year.
While Leonard watched and hesitated on the roadway, unable, apparently,
to make up his mind to pass those iron gates, and yet desirous of doing
so, carts and carriages began to appear hurrying down the avenue towards
him.
"I suppose that the sale is over," he muttered to himself. "Well, like
death, it is a good thing to have done with."
Then he turned to go; but hearing the crunch of wheels close at hand,
stepped back into the shadow of the gateway pillar, fearing lest he
should be recognised on the open road. A carriage came up, and, just as
it reached the gates, something being amiss with the harness, a footman
descended from the box to set it right. From where he stood Leonard
could see its occupants, the wife and daughter of a neighbouring squire,
and overhear their conversation. He knew them well; indeed, the younger
lady had been one of his favourite partners at the county balls.
"How cheap the things went, Ida! Fancy buying that old oak sideboard for
ten pounds, and with all those Outram quarterings on it too! It is as
good as an historical document, and I am sure that it must be worth at
least fifty. I shall sell ours and put it into the dining-room. I have
coveted that sideboard for years."
The daughter sighed and answered with some asperity.
"I am so sorry for the Outrams that I should not care about the
sideboard if you had got it for twopence.
THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST
CHAPTER I
THE SINS OF THE FATHER ARE VISITED ON THE CHILDREN
The January afternoon was passing into night, the air was cold and
still, so still that not a single twig of the naked beech-trees stirred;
on the grass of the meadows lay a thin white rime, half frost, half
snow; the firs stood out blackly against a steel-hued sky, and over the
tallest of them hung a single star. Past these bordering firs there ran
a road, on which, in this evening of the opening of our story, a young
man stood irresolute, glancing now to the right and now to the left.
To his right were two stately gates of iron fantastically wrought,
supported by stone pillars on whose summits stood griffins of black
marble embracing coats of arms, and banners inscribed with the device
_Per ardua ad astra_. Beyond these gates ran a broad carriage drive,
lined on either side by a double row of such oaks as England alone can
produce under the most favourable circumstances of soil, aided by the
nurturing hand of man and three or four centuries of time.
At the head of this avenue, perhaps half a mile from the roadway,
although it looked nearer because of the eminence upon which it was
placed, stood a mansion of the class that in auctioneers' advertisements
is usually described as "noble." Its general appearance was Elizabethan,
for in those days some forgotten Outram had practically rebuilt it; but
a large part of its fabric was far more ancient than the Tudors,
dating back, so said tradition, to the time of King John. As we are
not auctioneers, however, it will be unnecessary to specify its many
beauties; indeed, at this date, some of the tribe had recently employed
their gift of language on these attractions with copious fulness and
accuracy of detail, since Outram Hall, for the first time during six
centuries, was, or had been, for sale.
Suffice it to say that, like the oaks of its avenue, Outram was such
a house as can only be found in England; no mere mass of bricks
and mortar, but a thing that seemed to have acquired a life and
individuality of its own. Or, if this saying be too far-fetched and
poetical, at the least this venerable home bore some stamp and trace
of the lives and individualities of many generations of mankind, linked
together in thought and feeling by the common bond of blood.
The young man who stood in the roadway looked long and earnestly towards
the mass of buildings that frowned upon him from the crest of the hill,
and as he looked an expression came into his face which fell little, if
at all, short of that of agony, the agony which the young can feel at
the shock of an utter and irredeemable loss. The face that wore such
evidence of trouble was a handsome one enough, though just now all the
charm of youth seemed to have faded from it. It was dark and strong, nor
was it difficult to guess that in after-life it might become stern. The
form also was shapely and athletic, though not very tall, giving promise
of more than common strength, and the bearing that of a gentleman who
had not brought himself up to the belief that ancient blood can cover
modern deficiencies of mind and manner. Such was the outward appearance
of Leonard Outram as he was then, in his twenty-third year.
While Leonard watched and hesitated on the roadway, unable, apparently,
to make up his mind to pass those iron gates, and yet desirous of doing
so, carts and carriages began to appear hurrying down the avenue towards
him.
"I suppose that the sale is over," he muttered to himself. "Well, like
death, it is a good thing to have done with."
Then he turned to go; but hearing the crunch of wheels close at hand,
stepped back into the shadow of the gateway pillar, fearing lest he
should be recognised on the open road. A carriage came up, and, just as
it reached the gates, something being amiss with the harness, a footman
descended from the box to set it right. From where he stood Leonard
could see its occupants, the wife and daughter of a neighbouring squire,
and overhear their conversation. He knew them well; indeed, the younger
lady had been one of his favourite partners at the county balls.
"How cheap the things went, Ida! Fancy buying that old oak sideboard for
ten pounds, and with all those Outram quarterings on it too! It is as
good as an historical document, and I am sure that it must be worth at
least fifty. I shall sell ours and put it into the dining-room. I have
coveted that sideboard for years."
The daughter sighed and answered with some asperity.
"I am so sorry for the Outrams that I should not care about the
sideboard if you had got it for twopence.
THE SINS OF THE FATHER ARE VISITED ON THE CHILDREN
The January afternoon was passing into night, the air was cold and
still, so still that not a single twig of the naked beech-trees stirred;
on the grass of the meadows lay a thin white rime, half frost, half
snow; the firs stood out blackly against a steel-hued sky, and over the
tallest of them hung a single star. Past these bordering firs there ran
a road, on which, in this evening of the opening of our story, a young
man stood irresolute, glancing now to the right and now to the left.
To his right were two stately gates of iron fantastically wrought,
supported by stone pillars on whose summits stood griffins of black
marble embracing coats of arms, and banners inscribed with the device
_Per ardua ad astra_. Beyond these gates ran a broad carriage drive,
lined on either side by a double row of such oaks as England alone can
produce under the most favourable circumstances of soil, aided by the
nurturing hand of man and three or four centuries of time.
At the head of this avenue, perhaps half a mile from the roadway,
although it looked nearer because of the eminence upon which it was
placed, stood a mansion of the class that in auctioneers' advertisements
is usually described as "noble." Its general appearance was Elizabethan,
for in those days some forgotten Outram had practically rebuilt it; but
a large part of its fabric was far more ancient than the Tudors,
dating back, so said tradition, to the time of King John. As we are
not auctioneers, however, it will be unnecessary to specify its many
beauties; indeed, at this date, some of the tribe had recently employed
their gift of language on these attractions with copious fulness and
accuracy of detail, since Outram Hall, for the first time during six
centuries, was, or had been, for sale.
Suffice it to say that, like the oaks of its avenue, Outram was such
a house as can only be found in England; no mere mass of bricks
and mortar, but a thing that seemed to have acquired a life and
individuality of its own. Or, if this saying be too far-fetched and
poetical, at the least this venerable home bore some stamp and trace
of the lives and individualities of many generations of mankind, linked
together in thought and feeling by the common bond of blood.
The young man who stood in the roadway looked long and earnestly towards
the mass of buildings that frowned upon him from the crest of the hill,
and as he looked an expression came into his face which fell little, if
at all, short of that of agony, the agony which the young can feel at
the shock of an utter and irredeemable loss. The face that wore such
evidence of trouble was a handsome one enough, though just now all the
charm of youth seemed to have faded from it. It was dark and strong, nor
was it difficult to guess that in after-life it might become stern. The
form also was shapely and athletic, though not very tall, giving promise
of more than common strength, and the bearing that of a gentleman who
had not brought himself up to the belief that ancient blood can cover
modern deficiencies of mind and manner. Such was the outward appearance
of Leonard Outram as he was then, in his twenty-third year.
While Leonard watched and hesitated on the roadway, unable, apparently,
to make up his mind to pass those iron gates, and yet desirous of doing
so, carts and carriages began to appear hurrying down the avenue towards
him.
"I suppose that the sale is over," he muttered to himself. "Well, like
death, it is a good thing to have done with."
Then he turned to go; but hearing the crunch of wheels close at hand,
stepped back into the shadow of the gateway pillar, fearing lest he
should be recognised on the open road. A carriage came up, and, just as
it reached the gates, something being amiss with the harness, a footman
descended from the box to set it right. From where he stood Leonard
could see its occupants, the wife and daughter of a neighbouring squire,
and overhear their conversation. He knew them well; indeed, the younger
lady had been one of his favourite partners at the county balls.
"How cheap the things went, Ida! Fancy buying that old oak sideboard for
ten pounds, and with all those Outram quarterings on it too! It is as
good as an historical document, and I am sure that it must be worth at
least fifty. I shall sell ours and put it into the dining-room. I have
coveted that sideboard for years."
The daughter sighed and answered with some asperity.
"I am so sorry for the Outrams that I should not care about the
sideboard if you had got it for twopence.
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THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST
THE PEOPLE OF THE MIST
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940012791269 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | SAP |
| Publication date: | 07/16/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 363 KB |
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