Regarding as a light thing his poor unfurnished stomach, Carne mounted
the broken staircase, in a style which might else have been difficult.
He had made up his mind to have one last look at the broad lands of his
ancestors, from the last that ever should be seen of the walls they had
reared and ruined. He stood upon the highest vantage-point that he could
attain with safety, where a shaggy gnarl of the all-pervading ivy served
as a friendly stay. To the right and left and far behind him all had
once been their domain--every tree, and meadow, and rock that faced the
moon, had belonged to his ancestors. "Is it a wonder that I am fierce?"
he cried, with unwonted self-inspection; "who, that has been robbed as
I have, would not try to rob in turn? The only thing amazing is my
patience and my justice. But I will come back yet, and have my revenge."
Descending to his hyena den--as Charron always called it--he caught
up his packet, and took a lantern, and a coil of tow which had been
prepared, and strode forth for the last time into the sloping court
behind the walls. Passing towards the eastern vaults, he saw the form of
some one by the broken dial, above the hedge of brambles, which had
once been of roses and sweetbriar. "Oh, that woman! I had forgotten that
affair!" he muttered, with annoyance, as he pushed through the thorns to
meet her.
Polly Cheeseman, the former belle of Springhaven, was leaning against
the wrecked dial, with a child in her arms and a bundle at her feet.
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