large/5636/lmm_short_stories_1902_1012_librivox_64kb_mp3/lmmshortstories1902_07_montgomery_64kb_22
large/5636/lmm_short_stories_1902_1012_librivox_64kb_mp3/lmmshortstories1902_07_montgomery_64kb
English
5636
In after years that frenzied walk through the storm and blackness seemed as an unbroken nightmare to Emily Fair's recollection. Often she fell. Once as she did so a jagged, dead limb of fir struck her forehead and cut in it a gash that marked her for life. IN AFTER YEARS THAT FRENZIED WALK THROUGH THE STORM AND BLACKNESS SEEMED AS AN UNBROKEN NIGHTMARE TO EMILY FERRIS RECOLLECTION OFTEN SHE FELL ONCE AS SHE DID SO A JAGGED DEAD LIMB OF FUR STRUCK HER FOREHEAD AND CUT IN IT A GASH THAT MARKED HER FOR LIFE
to do even harder things than that. At the best there would be a storm of protest and objection on her brother's and sister's part, and Emily felt that she could not encounter that in her present mood. It would drive her mad. She lit a lamp and dressed herself noiselessly, but with feverish haste. Then she listened. The house was very still. Amelia and John had gone to bed. She wrapped herself in a heavy woollen shawl hanging in the hall and crept downstairs. With numbed fingers she fumbled at the key of the hall door, turned it and slipped out into the night. The storm seemed to reach out and clutch her and swallow her up. She went through the garden, where the flowers already were crushed to earth; she crossed the long field beyond, where the rain cut her face like a whip and the wind almost twisted her in its grasp like a broken reed. Somehow or other, more by blind instinct than anything else, she found the path that led through commons and woods and waste valleys to her lost home. PS HAD BEEN KNOWN TO DO EVEN HARDER THINGS THAN THAT AT THE BEST THERE WOULD BE A STORM OF PROTEST AND OBJECTION ON HER BROTHERS AND SISTER'S PART AND EMILY FELT THAT SHE COULD NOT ENCOUNTER THAT IN HER PRESENT MOOD IT WOULD DRIVE HER MAD SHE LIT A LAMP AND DRESSED HERSELF NOISELESSLY BUT WITH FEVERISH HASTE THEN SHE LISTENED THE HOUSE WAS VERY STILL AMELIA JOHN HAD GONE TO BED SHE WRAPPED HERSELF IN A HEAVY WOOLLEN SHAWL HANGING IN THE HALL AND CREPT DOWN STAIRS WITH NUMBED FINGERS SHE FUMBLED AT THE KEY OF THE HALL DOOR TURNED IT AND SLIPPED OUT INTO THE NIGHT THE STORM SEEMED TO REACH OUT AND CLUTCH HER AND SWALLOW HER UP SHE WENT THROUGH THE GARDEN WHERE THE FLOWERS ALREADY WERE CRUSHED TO EARTH SHE CROSSED THE LONG FIELD BEYOND WHERE THE RAIN CUT HER FACE LIKE A WHIP AND THE WIND ALMOST TWISTED HER IN ITS GRASP LIKE A BROKEN REED SOMEHOW OR OTHER MORE BY A BLIND INSTINCT THAN ANYTHING ELSE SHE FOUND THE PATH THAT LED THROUGH THE COMMONS AND WOODS AND WASTE VALLEYS TO HER LOST HOME
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