A Terrible Temptation (Fiscle Part 3) by Charles Reade (best ereader for manga TXT) 📕

Again. He Shot Sir Charles's Pheasants Whenever They Strayed Into His

Hedgerows,  And He Lived Moderately And Studied Health. In A Word,

Content With The Result Of His Anonymous Letter,  He Confined Himself

Now To Cannily Out-Living The Wrongful Heir--His Cousin.

One Fine Frosty Day The Chimneys Of Huntercombe Began To Show Signs Of

Life; Vertical Columns Of Blue Smoke Rose In The Air,  One After

Another,  Till At Last There Were About Forty Going.

Old Servants Flowed Down From London. New Ones Trickled In,  With Their

Boxes,  From The Country. Carriages Were Drawn Out Into The Stable-Yard,

Horses Exercised,  And A Whisper Ran That Sir Charles Was Coming To Live

On His Estates,  And Not Alone.

Richard Bassett Went About Inquiring Cautiously.

The Rumor Spread And Was Confirmed By Some Little Facts.

At Last,  One Fine Day,  When The Chimneys Were All Smoking,  The

Church-Bells Began To Peal.

Richard Bassett Heard,  And Went Out,  Scowling Deeply. He Found The

Village All Agog With Expectation.

Presently There Was A Loud Cheer From The Steeple,  And A Flag Floated

From The Top Of Huntercombe House. Murmurs. Distant Cheers. Approaching

Cheers. The Clatter Of Horses' Feet. The Roll Of Wheels. Huntercombe

Gates Flung Wide Open By A Cluster Of Grooms And Keepers.

Then On Came Two Outriders,  Ushered By Loud Hurrahs,  And Followed By A

Carriage And Four That Dashed Through The Village Amid Peals Of Delight

From The Villagers. The Carriage Was Open,  And In It Sat Sir Charles

And Bella Bassett. She Was Lovelier Than Ever; She Dazzled The Very Air

With Her Beauty And Her Glorious Hair. The Hurrahs Of The Villagers

Made Her Heart Beat; She Pressed Sir Charles's Hand Tenderly,  And

Literally Shone With Joy And Pride; And So She Swept Past Richard

Bassett; She Saw Him Directly,  Shuddered A Moment,  And Half Clung To

Her Husband; Then On Again,  And Passed Through The Open Gates Amid Loud

Cheers. She Alighted In Her Own Hall,  And Walked,  Nodding And Smiling

Sunnily,  Through Two Files Of Domestics And Retainers; And Thought No

More Of Richard Bassett Than Some Bright Bird That Has Flown Over A

Rattlesnake And Glanced Down At Him.

But A Gorgeous Bird Cannot Always Be Flying. A Snake Can Sometimes

Creep Under Her Perch,  And Glare,  And Keep Hissing,  Till She Shudders

And Droops And Lays Her Plumage In The Dust.

Generally Deliberate Crimes Are Followed By Some Great Punishment; But

They Are Also Often Attended In Their Course By Briefer

Chastisements--Single Strokes From The Whip That Holds The Round Dozen

In Reserve. These Precursors Of The Grand Expiation Are Sharp But

Kindly Lashes,  For They Tend To Whip The Man Out Of The Wrong Road.

Such A Stroke Fell On Richard Bassett: He Saw Bella Bruce Sweep Past

Him,  Clinging To Her Husband,  And Shuddering At Himself. For This,

Then,  He Had Plotted And Intrigued And Written An Anonymous Letter. The

Only Woman He Had Ever Loved At All Went Past Him With A Look Of

Aversion,  And Was His Enemy's Wife,  And Would Soon Be The Mother Of

That Enemy's Children,  And Blot Him Forever Out Of The Coveted

Inheritance.

The Man Crept Home,  And Sat By His Little Fireside,  Crushed. Indeed,

From That Hour He Disappeared,  And Drank His Bitter Cup Alone.

After A While It Transpired In The Village That He Was Very Ill. The

Clergyman Went To Visit Him,  But Was Not Admitted. The Only Person Who

Got To See Him Was His Friend Wheeler,  A Small But Sharp Attorney,  By

Whose Advice He Acted In Country Matters. This Wheeler Was Very Fond Of

Shooting,  And Could Not Get A Crack At A Pheasant Except On Highmore;

And That Was A Bond Between Him And Its Proprietor. It Was Wheeler Who

Had First Told Bassett Not To Despair Of Possessing The Estates,  Since

They Had Inserted Sir Charles's Heir At Law In The Entail.

This Wheeler Found Him Now So Shrunk In Body,  So Pale And Haggard In

Face,  And Dejected In Mind,  That He Was Really Shocked,  And Asked Leave

To Send A Doctor From A Neighboring Town.

"What To Do?" Said Richard,  Moodily. "It's My Mind; It's Not My Body.

Ah,  Wheeler,  It Is All Over. I And Mine Shall Never Have Huntercombe

Now."

"I'll Tell You What It Is," Said Wheeler,  Almost Angrily,  "You Will

Have Six Feet By Two Of It Before Long If You Go On This Way. Was Ever

Such Folly! To Fret Yourself Out Of This Jolly World Because You Can't

Get One Particular Slice Of Its Upper Crust. Why,  One Bit Of Land Is As

Good As Another; And I'll Show You How To Get Land--In This

Neighborhood,  Too. Ay,  Right Under Sir Charles's Nose."

"Show Me That," Said Bassett,  Gloomily And Incredulously.

"Leave Off Moping,  Then,  And I Will. I Advise The Bank,  You Know,  And

'Splatchett's' Farm Is Mortgaged Up To The Eyes. It Is Not The Only

One. I Go To The Village Inns,  And Pick Up All The Gossip I Hear

There."

"How Am I To Find Money To Buy Land?"

"I'll Put You Up To That,  Too; But You Must Leave Off Moping. Hang It,

Man,  Never Say Die. There Are Plenty Of Chances On The Cards. Get Your

Color Back,  And Marry A Girl With Money,  And Turn That Into Land. The

First Thing Is To Leave Off Grizzling. Why,  You Are Playing The Enemy's

Game. That Can't Be Right,  Can It?"

This Remark Was The First That Really Roused The Sick Man.

Wheeler Had Too Few Clients To Lose One. He Now Visited Bassett Almost

Daily,  And,  Being Himself Full Of Schemes And Inventions,  He Got

Bassett,  By Degrees,  Out Of His Lethargy,  And He Emerged Into Daylight

Again; But He Looked Thin,  And Yellow As A Guinea,  And He Had Turned

Miser. He Kept But One Servant,  And Fed Her And Himself At Sir Charles

Bassett's Expense. He Wired That Gentleman's Hares And Rabbits In His

Own Hedges. He Went Out With His Gun Every Sunny Afternoon,  And Shot A

Brace Or Two Of Pheasants,  Without Disturbing The Rest; For He Took No

Dog With Him To Run And Yelp,  But A Little Boy,  Who Quietly Tapped The

Hedgerows And Walked The Sunny Banks And Shaws. They Never Came Home

Empty-Handed.

But On Those Rarer Occasions When Sir Charles And His Friends Beat The

Bassett Woods Richard Was Sure To Make A Large Bag; For He Was A Cool,

Unerring Shot,  And Flushed The Birds In Hedgerows,  Slips Of Underwood,

Etc.,  To Which The Fairer Sportsmen Had Driven Them.

These Birds And The Surplus Hares He Always Sold In The Market-Town,

And Put The Money Into A Box. The Rabbits He Ate,  And Also Squirrels,

And,  Above All,  Young Hedgehogs: A Gypsy Taught Him How To Cook Them,

Viz.,  By Inclosing Them In Clay,  And Baking Them In Wood Embers; Then

The Bristles Adhere To The Burned Clay,  And The Meat Is Juicy. He Was

His Own Gardener,  And Vegetables Cost Him Next To Nothing.

So He Went On Through All The Winter Months,  And By The Spring His

Health And Strength Were Restored. Then He Turned Woodman,  Cut Down

Every Stick Of Timber In A Little Wood Near His House,  And Sold It; And

Then Set To Work To Grub Up The Roots For Fires,  And Cleared It For

Tillage. The Sum He Received For The Wood Was Much More Than He

Expected,  And This He Made A Note Of.

He Had A Strong Body,  That Could Work Hard All Day,  A Big Hate,  And A

Mania For The Possession Of Land. And So He Led A Truly Spartan Life,

And Everybody In The Village Said He Was Mad.

While He Led This Hard Life Sir Charles And Lady Bassett Were The

Gayest Of The Gay. She Was The Beauty And The Bride. Visits And

Invitations Poured In From Every Part Of The Country. Sir Charles,

Flattered By The Homage Paid To His Beloved,  Made Himself Younger And

Less Fastidious To Indulge Her; And The Happy Pair Often Drove Twelve

Miles To Dinner,  And Twenty To Dine And Sleep--An Excellent Custom In

That Country,  One Of Whose Favorite Toasts Is Worth Recording: "May You

Dine Where You Please,  And Sleep Where You Dine."

They Were At Every Ball,  And Gave One Or Two Themselves.

Above All,  They Enjoyed Society In That Delightful Form Which Is

Confined To Large Houses. They Would Have Numerous And Well-Assorted

Visitors Staying At The House For A Week Or So,  And All Dining At A

Huge Round Table. But Two O'clock P.M. Was The Time To See How Hosts

And Guests Enjoyed Themselves. The Hall Door Of Huntercombe Was

Approached By A Flight Of Stone Steps,  Easy Of Ascent,  And About

Twenty-Four Feet Wide. At The Riding Hour The County Ladies Used To

Come,  One After Another,  Holding Up Their Riding-Habits With One Hand,

And Perch About This Gigantic Flight Of Steps Like Peacocks,  And

Chatter Like Jays,  While The Servants Walked Their Horses About The

Gravel Esplanade,  And The Four-In-Hand Waited A Little In The Rear. A

Fine Champing Of Bits And Fidgeting Of Thoroughbreds There Was,  Till

All Were Ready; Then The Ladies Would Each Put Out Her Little Foot,

With Charming Nonchalance,  To The Nearest Gentleman Or Groom,  With A

Slight Preference For The Grooms,  Who Were More Practiced. The Man

Lifted,  The Lady Sprang At The Same Time,  And Into Her Saddle Like A

Bird--Lady Bassett On A Very Quiet Pony,  Or In The Carriage To Please

Some Dowager--And Away They Clattered In High Spirits,  A Regular

Cavalcade. It Was A Hunting County,  And