This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen
and David Widger
by Edward Bulwer Lytton
I'll tell you a story if you please to attend.
G. KNIGHT: Limbo.
It was the evening of a soft, warm day in the May of 17—. The sunhad already set, and the twilight was gathering slowly over the large,still masses of wood which lay on either side of one of those greenlanes so peculiar to England. Here and there, the outline of thetrees irregularly shrunk back from the road, leaving broad patches ofwaste land covered with fern and the yellow blossoms of the dwarffurze, and at more distant intervals thick clusters of rushes, fromwhich came the small hum of gnats,—those "evening revellers"alternately rising and sinking in the customary manner of theirunknown sports,—till, as the shadows grew darker and darker, theirthin and airy shapes were no longer distinguishable, and no solitarytoken of life or motion broke the voiceless monotony of thesurrounding woods.
The first sound which invaded the silence came from the light, quickfootsteps of a person whose youth betrayed itself in its elastic andunmeasured tread, and in the gay, free carol which broke out by fitsand starts upon the gentle stillness of the evening.
There was something rather indicative of poetical taste than musicalscience in the selection of this vesper hymn, which always commencedwith,—
"'T is merry, 't is merry, in good green wood,"
and never proceeded a syllable further than the end of the secondline,—
"when birds are about and singing;"
from the last word of which, after a brief pause, it invariablystarted forth into joyous "iteration."
Presently a heavier, yet still more rapid, step than that of the youthwas heard behind; and, as it overtook the latter, a loud, clear, good-humoured voice gave the salutation of the evening. The tone in whichthis courtesy was returned was frank, distinct, and peculiarlyharmonious.
"Good evening, my friend. How far is it to W——? I hope I am notout of the direct road?"
"To W——, sir?" said the man, touching his hat, as he perceived, inspite of the dusk, something in the air and voice of his newacquaintance which called for a greater degree of respect than he wasat first disposed to accord to a pedestrian traveller,—"to W——,sir? why, you will not surely go there to-night? it is more thaneight miles distant, and the roads none of the best"
"Now, a curse on all rogues!" quoth the youth, with a serious sort ofvivacity. "Why, the miller at the foot of the hill assured me Ishould be at my journey's end in less than an hour."
"He may have said right, sir," returned the man, "yet you will notreach W—— in twice that time."
"How do you mean?" said the younger stranger.
"Why, that you may for once force a miller to speak truth in spite ofhimself, and make a public-house, about three miles hence, the end ofyour day's journey."
"Thank you for the hint," said the youth. "Does the house you speakof lie on the road-side?"
"No, sir: the lane branches off about two miles hence, and you mustthen turn to the right; but till then our way is the same, and if youwould not prefer your own company to mine we can trudge on together."
"With all my heart," rejoined the younger stranger; "and not the lesswillingly from the brisk pace you walk