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

8 страница из 96

The woman shook her head, and disbelief shone in her eyes. The vicar saw it, and smiled again.

“Well, well! It remains to be proved that I am right,” said he.

“It remains to be proved, which of us is right, sir.”

“Very well, we’ll leave it at that. When do they arrive?”

“About six this evening, sir; the usual time when the men come home.”

“I will call in this evening then, and welcome them. Good-bye, Mrs. Slater, and don’t go listening to or spreading idle gossip!” And the kindly old man went away down the street.

That evening, when the bell rang to denote the return of the men-folk, every door was occupied by an eager face, anxious not only to catch sight of the two strangers, but also to take another look at the woman who had dared to defy the “Marshfielden Curse.”

For in this little village the “Curse” was a real, poignant fact, and was spoken of in the twilight with hushed tones and furtive glances. Children were quieted and terrified by it, and the fear imbibed by them in their childhood grew with them till their death. Not one of them but Mary Slater would have risked its anger by allowing a stranger to sleep beneath her roof; and even Mary, although outwardly calm, was inwardly terrified lest her action might be the means of bringing disaster and misery, not only on her two lodgers, but on the whole little community.

Правообладателям