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The House in the Mist By: Anna Katharine Green (1846-1935) |
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By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN Author of
The Millionaire Baby
The Amethyst Box
The Filigree Ball, etc., etc. NEW YORK
THE NEW YORK BOOK CO.
1913 COPYRIGHT 1905
THE BOBBS MERRILL COMPANY APRIL
THE HOUSE IN THE MIST I AN OPEN DOOR
It was a night to drive any man indoors. Not only was the darkness
impenetrable, but the raw mist enveloping hill and valley made the open
road anything but desirable to a belated wayfarer like myself. Being young, untrammeled, and naturally indifferent to danger, I was not
averse to adventure; and having my fortune to make, was always on the
lookout for El Dorado, which, to ardent souls, lies ever beyond the next
turning. Consequently, when I saw a light shimmering through the mist at
my right, I resolved to make for it and the shelter it so opportunely
offered. But I did not realize then, as I do now, that shelter does not necessarily
imply refuge, or I might not have undertaken this adventure with so light
a heart. Yet, who knows? The impulses of an unfettered spirit lean toward
daring, and youth, as I have said, seeks the strange, the unknown and,
sometimes, the terrible. My path toward this light was by no means an easy one. After confused
wanderings through tangled hedges, and a struggle with obstacles of
whose nature I received the most curious impression in the surrounding
murk, I arrived in front of a long, low building which, to my
astonishment, I found standing with doors and windows open to the
pervading mist, save for one square casement through which the light
shone from a row of candles placed on a long mahogany table. The quiet and seeming emptiness of this odd and picturesque building
made me pause. I am not much affected by visible danger, but this silent
room, with its air of sinister expectancy, struck me most unpleasantly,
and I was about to reconsider my first impulse and withdraw again to the
road, when a second look, thrown back upon the comfortable interior I
was leaving, convinced me of my folly and sent me straight toward the
door which stood so invitingly open. But half way up the path, my progress was again stayed by the sight of a
man issuing from the house I had so rashly looked upon as devoid of all
human presence. He seemed in haste and, at the moment my eye first fell
on him, was engaged in replacing his watch in his pocket. But he did not shut the door behind him, which I thought odd, especially
as his final glance had been a backward one, and seemed to take in all
the appointments of the place he was so hurriedly leaving. As we met, he raised his hat. This likewise struck me as peculiar, for
the deference he displayed was more marked than that usually bestowed on
strangers, while his lack of surprise at an encounter more or less
startling in such a mist was calculated to puzzle an ordinary man like
myself. Indeed, he was so little impressed by my presence there that he
was for passing me without a word or any other hint of good fellowship,
save the bow of which I have spoken. But this did not suit me. I was
hungry, cold, and eager for creature comforts, and the house before me
gave forth not only heat, but a savory odor which in itself was an
invitation hard to ignore. I therefore accosted the man. "Will bed and supper be provided me here?" I asked. "I am tired out with
a long tramp over the hills, and hungry enough to pay anything in
reason " I stopped, for the man had disappeared. He had not paused at my appeal
and the mist had swallowed him. But at the break in my sentence, his
voice came back in good natured tones and I heard: "Supper will be ready at nine, and there are beds for all. Enter, sir;
you are the first to arrive, but the others can not be far behind." A queer greeting, certainly. But when I strove to question him as to its
meaning, his voice returned to me from such a distance that I doubted if
my words had reached him with any more distinctness than his answer
reached me. "Well!" thought I, "it isn't as if a lodging had been denied me... Continue reading book >>
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Genres for this book |
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Literature |
Mystery |
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