It was a beautiful piece of
workmanship, but her attention was chiefly held by the fact that a
newly cut bunch of grapes had been placed as an offering at its
feet. Grapes were none too plentiful at the manor house, and
Sylvia snatched the bunch angrily from the pedestal. Contemptuous
annoyance dominated her thoughts as she strolled slowly homeward,
and then gave way to a sharp feeling of something that was very
near fright; across a thick tangle of undergrowth a boy's face was
scowling at her, brown and beautiful, with unutterably evil eyes.
It was a lonely pathway, all pathways round Yessney were lonely
for the matter of that, and she sped forward without waiting to
give a closer scrutiny to this sudden apparition. It was not till
she had reached the house that she discovered that she had dropped
the bunch of grapes in her flight.
"I saw a youth in the wood to-day," she told Mortimer that
evening, "brown-faced and rather handsome, but a scoundrel to look
at. A gipsy lad, I suppose."
"A reasonable theory," said Mortimer, "only there aren't any
gipsies in these parts at present."
"Then who was he?" asked Sylvia, and as Mortimer appeared to have
no theory of his own, she passed on to recount her finding of the
votive offering.
Pages:
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143