DOI Artikel:
D'Arcy, Ella: The web of Maya
DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27806#0299
By Ella D’Arcy 295
pastor. Sometimes, in the evening, Le Mesurier would walk over
to Saint Maclou, and smoke a pipe at the Rectory ; sometimes,
when the weather was tempting, the old clergyman, who liked
him and pitied him, would come up in the afternoon to pay a
visit to the Barracks ; but these meetings between them were
rare, and, as Le Mesurier grew more moody, and Chauchat more
feeble, they became rarer still.
But one day, in the dirty living-room of his cottage, Le
Mesurier sat and entertained an unexpected and most unwel-
come guest.
Outside the window nothing was visible but whiteness—an
opaque, luminous, sun-suffused whiteness, which obliterated earth
and sky and sea. For Le Tas, and Saint Maclou, and the whole
Island Archipelago, were enveloped in one of those wet and
hurrying mists so common here in August. It blew from the
north-east ; broke against the high cliffs of Saint Maclou, as a
river breaks against a boulder ; overflowed the top ; lay in every
valley like some still inland lake ; and, pouring down every head-
land on the south and west, swept out again to sea.
The cottage on Le Tas, at all times solitary, was this afternoon
completely cut off from the rest of the world.
Le Mesurier’s living-room, in its dirt and its disorder, showed
plainly that no woman ever came there. Unwashed cooking
utensils and crockery littered up the hearth and dresser ; the baize
cover and cushions of the jonquiere, often lain upon, were never
shaken or cleaned ; rusting guns, disordered fishing tackle, can-
vases, a battered oil-paint box, spoke of occupations thrown
aside and tastes forgotten. On a table in the window were
writing-materials, a couple of dog-eared books, a tobacco-jar, a
pipe.
pastor. Sometimes, in the evening, Le Mesurier would walk over
to Saint Maclou, and smoke a pipe at the Rectory ; sometimes,
when the weather was tempting, the old clergyman, who liked
him and pitied him, would come up in the afternoon to pay a
visit to the Barracks ; but these meetings between them were
rare, and, as Le Mesurier grew more moody, and Chauchat more
feeble, they became rarer still.
But one day, in the dirty living-room of his cottage, Le
Mesurier sat and entertained an unexpected and most unwel-
come guest.
Outside the window nothing was visible but whiteness—an
opaque, luminous, sun-suffused whiteness, which obliterated earth
and sky and sea. For Le Tas, and Saint Maclou, and the whole
Island Archipelago, were enveloped in one of those wet and
hurrying mists so common here in August. It blew from the
north-east ; broke against the high cliffs of Saint Maclou, as a
river breaks against a boulder ; overflowed the top ; lay in every
valley like some still inland lake ; and, pouring down every head-
land on the south and west, swept out again to sea.
The cottage on Le Tas, at all times solitary, was this afternoon
completely cut off from the rest of the world.
Le Mesurier’s living-room, in its dirt and its disorder, showed
plainly that no woman ever came there. Unwashed cooking
utensils and crockery littered up the hearth and dresser ; the baize
cover and cushions of the jonquiere, often lain upon, were never
shaken or cleaned ; rusting guns, disordered fishing tackle, can-
vases, a battered oil-paint box, spoke of occupations thrown
aside and tastes forgotten. On a table in the window were
writing-materials, a couple of dog-eared books, a tobacco-jar, a
pipe.