Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) 📕

there for the purpose of repairing it; a thought appeared to strike me⁠—I will shy at those stones, and, if I can’t get rid of him so, resign myself to my fate. So I increased my speed, till arriving within about ten yards of the heap, I made a desperate start, turning half-round with nearly the velocity of a millstone. Oh, the joy I experienced when I felt my enemy canted over my neck, and saw him lying senseless in the road. “I have you now in my power,” I said, or rather neighed, as, going up to my prostrate foe, I stood over him. “Suppose I were to rear now, and let my fore feet fall upon you, what would your life be worth? that is, supposing you are not killed already; but lie there, I will do you no further harm, but trot to Horncastle without a rider, and when there⁠—” and without further reflection off I trotted in the direction of Horncastle, but had not gone far before my bridle, falling from my neck, got entangled with my off fore foot. I felt myself falling, a thrill of agony shot through me⁠—my knees would be broken, and what should I do at Horncastle with a pair of broken knees; I struggled, but I could not disengage my off fore foot, and downward I fell, but before I had reached the ground I awoke, and found myself half out of bed, my bandaged arm in considerable pain, and my left hand just touching the floor.

With some difficulty I readjusted myself in bed. It was now early morning, and the first rays of the sun were beginning to penetrate the white curtains of a window on my left, which probably looked into a garden, as I caught a glimpse or two of the leaves of trees through a small uncovered part at the side. For some time I felt uneasy and anxious, my spirits being in a strange fluttering state. At last my eyes fell upon a small row of teacups, seemingly of china, which stood on a mantelpiece exactly fronting the bottom of the bed. The sight of these objects, I know not why, soothed and pacified me; I kept my eyes fixed upon them, as I lay on my back on the bed, with my head upon the pillow, till at last I fell into a calm and refreshing sleep.

XXXII

It might be about eight o’clock in the morning when I was awakened by the entrance of the old man. “How have you rested?” said he, coming up to the bedside, and looking me in the face. “Well,” said I, “and I feel much better, but I am still very sore.” I surveyed him now for the first time with attention. He was dressed in a sober-coloured suit, and was apparently between sixty and seventy. In stature he was rather above the middle height, but with a slight stoop; his features were placid, and expressive of much benevolence, but as it appeared to me, with rather a melancholy cast. As I gazed upon them, I felt ashamed that I should ever have conceived in my brain a vision like that of the preceding night, in which he appeared in so disadvantageous a light. At length he said: “It is now time for you to take some refreshment. I hear my old servant coming up with your breakfast.” In a moment the elderly female entered with a tray, on which was some bread and butter, a teapot and cup. The cup was of common blue earthenware, but the pot was of china, curiously fashioned, and seemingly of great antiquity. The old man poured me out a cupful of tea, and then, with the assistance of the woman, raised me higher, and propped me up with pillows. I ate and drank; when the pot was emptied of its liquid (it did not contain much), I raised it up with my left hand to inspect it. The sides were covered with curious characters, seemingly hieroglyphics. After surveying them for some time, I replaced it upon the tray. “You seem fond of china,” said I to the old man, after the servant had retired with the breakfast things, and I had returned to my former posture; “you have china on the mantelpiece, and that was a remarkable teapot out of which I have just been drinking.”

The old man fixed his eyes intently on me, and methought the expression of his countenance became yet more melancholy. “Yes,” said he at last, “I am fond of china⁠—I have reason to be fond of china⁠—but for china I should⁠—” and here he sighed again.

“You value it for the quaintness and singularity of its form,” said I; “it appears to be less adapted for real use than our own pottery.”

“I care little about its form,” said the old man; “I care for it simply on account of⁠—however, why talk to you on the subject which can have no possible interest for you? I expect the surgeon here presently.”

“I do not like that surgeon at all,” said I; “how strangely he behaved last night, coming back, when I was just falling asleep, to ask me if I would sell my horse.”

The old man smiled. “He has but one failing,” said he, “an itch for horse-dealing; but for that he might be a much richer man than he is; he is continually buying and exchanging horses, and generally finds himself a loser by his bargains: but he is a worthy creature, and skilful in his profession; it is well for you that you are under his care.”

The old man then left me, and in about an hour returned with the surgeon, who examined me and reported favourably as to my case. He spoke to me with kindness and feeling, and did not introduce the subject of the horse. I asked him whether he thought I should be in time for the fair. “I