Lady of the Ice by James De Mille Read Free Book Online Page A

a gloomy enjoyment of my discomfiture.
    For my part, I said nothing, and for the best of reasons: I had nothing to say. So I took refuge in shaking my head.
    â€œYou see,” Jack persisted, “there’s no help for it. Nobody can do any thing. There’s only one thing, and that you haven’t suggested.”
    â€œWhat’s that?” I asked, feebly.
    Jack put the tip of his forefinger to his forehead, and snapped his thumb against his third.
    â€œHaven’t much brains to speak of,” said he, “but if I did happen to blow out what little I may have, it would be the easiest settlement of the difficulty. It would be cutting the knot, instead of attempting the impossible task of untying it. Nobody would blame me. Everybody would mourn for me, and, above all, four tender female hearts would feel a pang of sorrow for my untimely fate. By all four I should be not cursed, but canonized. Only one class would suffer, and those would be welcome to their agonies. I allude, of course, to my friends the Duns.”
    To this eccentric proposal, I made no reply whatever.
    â€œWell,” said Jack thoughtfully, “it isn’t a bad idea. Not a bad idea,” he repeated, rising from his chair and putting down his pipe, which had again gone out owing to his persistent loquacity. “I’ll think it over,” he continued, seriously. “You bear in mind my little directions about the head-stone, Macrorie, four feet by eighteen inches, old fellow, very plain, and, mark me, only the name and date. Not a word about the virtues of the deceased, etc. I can stand a great deal, but that I will not stand. And now, old chap, I must be off; you can’t do me any good, I see.”
    â€œAt any rate, you’ll wait till tomorrow,” said I, carelessly.
    â€œOh, there’s no hurry,” said he. “Of course, I must wait till then. I’ll let you know if any thing new turns up.”
    And saying this, he took his departure.

Chapter 7 CROSSING THE ST. LAWRENCE. — THE STORM AND THE BREAK-UP. — A WONDERFUL ADVENTURE. — A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. — WHO IS SHE? — THE ICE-RIDGE. — FLY FOR YOUR LIFE!
    On the following day I found myself compelled to go on some routine duty cross the river to Point Levi. The weather was the most abominable of that abominable season. It was winter, and yet not Winter’s self. The old gentleman had lost all that bright and hilarious nature; all that sparkling and exciting stimulus which he owns and holds here so joyously in January, February, and even March. He was decrepit, yet spiteful; a hoary, old, tottering, palsied villain, hurling curses at all who ventured into his evil presence. One look outside showed me the full nature of all that was before me, and revealed the old tyrant in the full power of his malignancy. The air was raw and chill. There blew a fierce, blighting wind, which brought with it showers of stinging sleet. The wooden pavements were overspread with a thin layer of ice, so glassy that walking could only be attempted at extreme hazard; the houses were incrusted with the same cheerful coating; and, of all the beastly weather that I had ever seen, there had never been any equal to this. However, there was no escape from it; and so, wrapping myself up as well as I could, I took a stout stick with a sharp iron ferrule, and plunged forth into the storm.
    On reaching the river, the view was any thing but satisfactory. The wind here was tremendous, and the sleet blew down in long, horizontal lines, every separate particle giving its separate sting, while the accumulated stings amounted to perfect torment. I paused for a while to get a little shelter, and take breath before venturing across.
    There were other reasons for pausing. The season was well advanced, and the ice was not considered particularly safe. Many things conspired to give indications of a break-up. The ice on the surface was soft, honey-combed, and