The Moonstone - Page 258/404

"This gentleman's name," answered Betteredge (with a strong emphasis on

GENTLEMAN), "is Mr. Franklin Blake."

The girl turned her back on me, and suddenly left the room. Good Mrs.

Yolland--as I believe--made some apologies for her daughter's odd

behaviour, and Betteredge (probably) translated them into polite

English. I speak of this in complete uncertainty. My attention was

absorbed in following the sound of the girl's crutch. Thump-thump,

up the wooden stairs; thump-thump across the room above our heads;

thump-thump down the stairs again--and there stood the apparition at the

open door, with a letter in its hand, beckoning me out!

I left more apologies in course of delivery behind me, and followed

this strange creature--limping on before me, faster and faster--down

the slope of the beach. She led me behind some boats, out of sight and

hearing of the few people in the fishing-village, and then stopped, and

faced me for the first time.

"Stand there," she said, "I want to look at you."

There was no mistaking the expression on her face. I inspired her with

the strongest emotions of abhorrence and disgust. Let me not be vain

enough to say that no woman had ever looked at me in this manner before.

I will only venture on the more modest assertion that no woman had ever

let me perceive it yet. There is a limit to the length of the inspection

which a man can endure, under certain circumstances. I attempted to

direct Limping Lucy's attention to some less revolting object than my

face.

"I think you have got a letter to give me," I began. "Is it the letter

there, in your hand?"

"Say that again," was the only answer I received.

I repeated the words, like a good child learning its lesson.

"No," said the girl, speaking to herself, but keeping her eyes still

mercilessly fixed on me. "I can't find out what she saw in his face. I

can't guess what she heard in his voice." She suddenly looked away from

me, and rested her head wearily on the top of her crutch. "Oh, my poor

dear!" she said, in the first soft tones which had fallen from her, in

my hearing. "Oh, my lost darling! what could you see in this man?" She

lifted her head again fiercely, and looked at me once more. "Can you eat

and drink?" she asked.

I did my best to preserve my gravity, and answered, "Yes."

"Can you sleep?"

"Yes."

"When you see a poor girl in service, do you feel no remorse?"

"Certainly not. Why should I?"

She abruptly thrust the letter (as the phrase is) into my face.

"Take it!" she exclaimed furiously. "I never set eyes on you before. God

Almighty forbid I should ever set eyes on you again."