I reined in my
impatient
cob, and turned round.
Kipling - Poems
Wessington slightly last season, and had always
been interested in the sickly woman. "What? Where? " she asked. "I can't
see them anywhere. "
Even as she spoke her horse, swerving from a laden mule, threw himself
directly in front of the advancing 'rickshaw. I had scarcely time to
utter a word of warning when, to my unutterable horror, horse and rider
passed through men and carriage as if they had been thin air.
"What's the matter? " cried Kitty; "what made you call out so foolishly,
Jack? If I am engaged I don't want all creation to know about it. There
was lots of space between the mule and the veranda; and, if you think I
can't ride--
"--There! "
Whereupon wilful Kitty set off, her dainty little head in the air, at a
hand-gallop in the direction of the Bandstand; fully expecting, as
she herself afterward told me, that I should follow her. What was the
matter? Nothing indeed. Either that I was mad or drunk, or that Simla
was haunted with devils.
I reined in my impatient cob, and turned round.
The 'rickshaw had turned too, and now stood immediately facing me, near
the left railing of the Combermere Bridge.
"Jack! Jack, darling! " (There was no mistake about the words this time:
they rang through my brain as if they had been shouted in my ear. ) "It's
some hideous mistake, I'm sure. Please forgive me, jack, and let's be
friends again. "
The 'rickshaw-hood had fallen back, and inside, as I hope and pray daily
for the death I dread by night, sat Mrs. Keith-Wessington, handkerchief
in hand, and golden head bowed on her breast.
How long I stared motionless I do not know. Finally, I was aroused by
my syce taking the Waler's bridle and asking whether I was ill. From the
horrible to the commonplace is but a step. I tumbled off my horse and
dashed, half fainting, into Peliti's for a glass of cherry-brandy. There
two or three couples were gathered round the coffee-tables discussing
the gossip of the day. Their trivialities were more comforting to me
just then than the consolations of religion could have been. I plunged
into the midst of the conversation at once; chatted, laughed, and jested
with a face (when I caught a glimpse of it in a mirror) as white and
drawn as that of a corpse.
been interested in the sickly woman. "What? Where? " she asked. "I can't
see them anywhere. "
Even as she spoke her horse, swerving from a laden mule, threw himself
directly in front of the advancing 'rickshaw. I had scarcely time to
utter a word of warning when, to my unutterable horror, horse and rider
passed through men and carriage as if they had been thin air.
"What's the matter? " cried Kitty; "what made you call out so foolishly,
Jack? If I am engaged I don't want all creation to know about it. There
was lots of space between the mule and the veranda; and, if you think I
can't ride--
"--There! "
Whereupon wilful Kitty set off, her dainty little head in the air, at a
hand-gallop in the direction of the Bandstand; fully expecting, as
she herself afterward told me, that I should follow her. What was the
matter? Nothing indeed. Either that I was mad or drunk, or that Simla
was haunted with devils.
I reined in my impatient cob, and turned round.
The 'rickshaw had turned too, and now stood immediately facing me, near
the left railing of the Combermere Bridge.
"Jack! Jack, darling! " (There was no mistake about the words this time:
they rang through my brain as if they had been shouted in my ear. ) "It's
some hideous mistake, I'm sure. Please forgive me, jack, and let's be
friends again. "
The 'rickshaw-hood had fallen back, and inside, as I hope and pray daily
for the death I dread by night, sat Mrs. Keith-Wessington, handkerchief
in hand, and golden head bowed on her breast.
How long I stared motionless I do not know. Finally, I was aroused by
my syce taking the Waler's bridle and asking whether I was ill. From the
horrible to the commonplace is but a step. I tumbled off my horse and
dashed, half fainting, into Peliti's for a glass of cherry-brandy. There
two or three couples were gathered round the coffee-tables discussing
the gossip of the day. Their trivialities were more comforting to me
just then than the consolations of religion could have been. I plunged
into the midst of the conversation at once; chatted, laughed, and jested
with a face (when I caught a glimpse of it in a mirror) as white and
drawn as that of a corpse.
