The Woman in White Read Online Free PDF

House. I
heard it mentioned by some Cumberland people a few days since."
    "Ah! not my people. Mrs. Fairlie is dead; and her husband is
dead; and their little girl may be married and gone away by this
time. I can't say who lives at Limmeridge now. If any more are
left there of that name, I only know I love them for Mrs.
Fairlie's sake."
    She seemed about to say more; but while she was speaking, we came
within view of the turnpike, at the top of the Avenue Road. Her
hand tightened round my arm, and she looked anxiously at the gate
before us.
    "Is the turnpike man looking out?" she asked.
    He was not looking out; no one else was near the place when we
passed through the gate. The sight of the gas-lamps and houses
seemed to agitate her, and to make her impatient.
    "This is London," she said. "Do you see any carriage I can get? I
am tired and frightened. I want to shut myself in and be driven
away."
    I explained to her that we must walk a little further to get to a
cab-stand, unless we were fortunate enough to meet with an empty
vehicle; and then tried to resume the subject of Cumberland. It
was useless. That idea of shutting herself in, and being driven
away, had now got full possession of her mind. She could think
and talk of nothing else.
    We had hardly proceeded a third of the way down the Avenue Road
when I saw a cab draw up at a house a few doors below us, on the
opposite side of the way. A gentleman got out and let himself in
at the garden door. I hailed the cab, as the driver mounted the
box again. When we crossed the road, my companion's impatience
increased to such an extent that she almost forced me to run.
    "It's so late," she said. "I am only in a hurry because it's so
late."
    "I can't take you, sir, if you're not going towards Tottenham
Court Road," said the driver civilly, when I opened the cab door.
"My horse is dead beat, and I can't get him no further than the
stable."
    "Yes, yes. That will do for me. I'm going that way—I'm going
that way." She spoke with breathless eagerness, and pressed by me
into the cab.
    I had assured myself that the man was sober as well as civil
before I let her enter the vehicle. And now, when she was seated
inside, I entreated her to let me see her set down safely at her
destination.
    "No, no, no," she said vehemently. "I'm quite safe, and quite
happy now. If you are a gentleman, remember your promise. Let
him drive on till I stop him. Thank you—oh! thank you, thank
you!"
    My hand was on the cab door. She caught it in hers, kissed it,
and pushed it away. The cab drove off at the same moment—I
started into the road, with some vague idea of stopping it again,
I hardly knew why—hesitated from dread of frightening and
distressing her—called, at last, but not loudly enough to attract
the driver's attention. The sound of the wheels grew fainter in
the distance—the cab melted into the black shadows on the road—
the woman in white was gone.
    Ten minutes or more had passed. I was still on the same side of
the way; now mechanically walking forward a few paces; now
stopping again absently. At one moment I found myself doubting
the reality of my own adventure; at another I was perplexed and
distressed by an uneasy sense of having done wrong, which yet left
me confusedly ignorant of how I could have done right. I hardly
knew where I was going, or what I meant to do next; I was
conscious of nothing but the confusion of my own thoughts, when I
was abruptly recalled to myself—awakened, I might almost say—by
the sound of rapidly approaching wheels close behind me.
    I was on the dark side of the road, in the thick shadow of some
garden trees, when I stopped to look round. On the opposite and
lighter side of the way, a short distance below me, a policeman
was strolling along in the direction of the Regent's Park.
    The carriage passed me—an open chaise driven by two men.
    "Stop!" cried one. "There's a policeman. Let's ask him."
    The horse was instantly pulled up, a few yards beyond the