Black Rainbow by KATHY Read Free Book Online

you would wonder why I don't pour boiling water on his head from the window instead of just turning him away from the door."
    "Is he very unattractive?" Megan asked interestedly.
    "Oh, yes, very. He is rather too thin than too fat; his hair is not much gray for a man of sixty; he has very hairy hands with long grasping fingers. But the crowning unattractiveness is that he doesn't care a fig for me. He wants the mill."
    "You do yourself an injustice, Jane," Megan protested. "Any man of taste would find you—"
    "He is not a man of taste. He owns several clothing factories in Yorkshire, and he is looking for a source of cheap cloth."
    "Dear me." Megan was disconcerted by this cynical appraisal.
    "He never actually had the effrontery to propose," Jane continued. "But he was working up to it; I could see it coming on. So, rather than waste his time and mine, I told him I despised him and that I would rather burn the mill to the ground than see him have any share in it."
    The soft, complacent voice in which she expressed these sentiments brought a reluctant smile to Megan's face.
    "I wonder he would show his face here again, after that."
    "Oh, he is impossible to insult. I wonder why he should reappear just now, though. Curse George Belts; I am tired of thinking and talking about the miserable creature. And you, poor girl, look terrible; your poor little nose is as red as a rose. I am sure you don't feel like singing tonight. Perhaps you had better go straight to bed, and I will have Lizzie rub you with goose grease."
    Megan was not eager to enjoy this treat. She offered to play, but found it difficult on account of having to stop every few bars to blow her nose. After half an hour she said good night, hoping that Jane had forgotten the goose grease, but feeling fairly sure she had not. And indeed Lizzie was close on her heels, her round red face radiating delight at the prospect of a patient to be tended. After a hot drink and a vigorous rub with the aforesaid medicament—which smelled almost as bad as Megan had feared it would—she was put into a flannel nightgown that had been toasting in front of the fire till it was red-hot. Lizzie then piled four blankets on top of her, forbade her to remove a single one of them, and left.
    Megan did not so much fall asleep as swoon with heat prostration. It might have been this discomfort or the inconvenience of the cold in the head that caused her to dream that night, for the first time since she had come to Grayhaven.
    It was the old familiar dream she had had many times before, from childhood on. The theme was always the same, though the locale and characters differed. She was hurrying to catch a ship or a train or a coach that left at a precise time. The destination was seldom clear, but it was a place she wanted desperately to reach, and she knew she would never get there unless she caught that particular vehicle. One after another, a dozen trifling errands detained her. The obstacles were as varied as her dreaming mind could invent, but all had the same effect—delay—and for some reason she was helpless to pass by or over them, even though she was tormented by painful anxiety about the time and a growing conviction that she would be too late.
    The dream always ended before she found out whether or not she had succeeded in reaching her conveyance. When her anxiety rose to fever pitch, she woke up. So it happened on this occasion; she lay lapped in steaming heat and could not decide whether the moisture on her cheek was perspiration or tears.
    Whatever its cause, the dream was not a portent of evil. The next day they heard good news. Edmund was coming home.

Chapter Four
    He came riding down the hill on a summer afternoon, his dark hair windblown and dappled with sunlight. It was just as Megan's most romantic musings had pictured—the spirited horse pawing the drive, the handsome rider smiling down at the members of the household, who had rushed out to greet him. Her heart popped