Читать книгу The Perfect World. A romance of strange people and strange places онлайн

7 страница из 96

To make therein his home,

Troubles—disease—misfortunes—death—

Upon the spot shall fall.

So—an’ Marshfielden folks ye’d swell

With fair prosperity, and safely dwell,

All strangers from your gates expel,

And live cut off from all.

The vicar laughed. “Yes, it’s a pretty legend, Mrs. Slater, but remember this is the twentieth century, and nothing is likely to happen to Marshfielden, its inhabitants or its visitors, because of that. Why, I was a stranger when I came, yet nothing very terrible has happened to me during these last forty years.”

“Ah, sir, you don’t count. I mean, sir, you belong to the Priory; you are our priest. You wouldn’t come under the ‘Curse’ sir.”

“And neither will any one else, Mrs. Slater. It’s a stupid legend.—Have no fear.”

“But,” began Mrs. Slater. “How do you account for the case of—” But Mr. Winthrop lifted up a deprecatory hand.

“I cannot listen to any more, Mrs. Slater.” And a note of authority came into his voice. “Why, all this is against the religion I preach to you—never listen to tales of superstition. Have no fear, do the best you can for the two young gentlemen, and I think I can promise you that no harm will come to them or you.”