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The Floating Press - Wilkie Collins

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235 pages

English

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Curl up with After Dark, the first collection of early detective fiction master Wilkie Collins' short stories. Including a diverse array of mysteries, tales of murder, and family drama in wartime and other chaotic settings, this engrossing collection is sure to have something that appeals to every reader.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juillet 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775453703
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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AFTER DARK
* * *
WILKIE COLLINS

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After Dark First published in 1856 ISBN 978-1-775453-70-3 © 2011 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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Preface to "After Dark" Leaves from Leah's Diary The Traveler's Story of a Terribly Strange Bed The Lawyer's Story of a Stolen Letter The French Governess's Story of Sister Rose Part First Part Second Part Third The Angler's Story of the Lady of Glenwith Grange The Nun's Story of Gabriel's Marriage The Professor's Story of the Yellow Mask Part First Part Second Part Third Last Leaves from Leah's Diary
Preface to "After Dark"
*
I have taken some pains to string together the various stories containedin this Volume on a single thread of interest, which, so far as I know,has at least the merit of not having been used before.
The pages entitled "Leah's Diary" are, however, intended to fulfillanother purpose besides that of serving as the frame-work for mycollection of tales. In this part of the book, and subsequently in thePrologues to the stories, it has been my object to give the reader onemore glimpse at that artist-life which circumstances have afforded mepeculiar opportunities of studying, and which I have already tried torepresent, under another aspect, in my fiction, "Hide-and-Seek." Thistime I wish to ask some sympathy for the joys and sorrows of a poortraveling portrait-painter—presented from his wife's point of viewin "Leah's Diary," and supposed to be briefly and simply narrated byhimself in the Prologues to the stories. I have purposely kept thesetwo portions of the book within certain limits; only giving, in theone case, as much as the wife might naturally write in her diary atintervals of household leisure; and, in the other, as much as a modestand sensible man would be likely to say about himself and about thecharacters he met with in his wanderings. If I have been so fortunate asto make my idea intelligible by this brief and simple mode of treatment,and if I have, at the same time, achieved the necessary object ofgathering several separate stories together as neatly-fitting parts ofone complete whole, I shall have succeeded in a design which I have forsome time past been very anxious creditably to fulfill.
Of the tales themselves, taken individually, I have only to say, byway of necessary explanation, that "The Lady of Glenwith Grange" is nowoffered to the reader for the first time; and that the other storieshave appeared in the columns of Household Words . My best thanks aredue to Mr. Charles Dickens for his kindness in allowing me to set themin their present frame-work.
I must also gratefully acknowledge an obligation of another kind to theaccomplished artist, Mr. W. S. Herrick, to whom I am indebted forthe curious and interesting facts on which the tales of "The TerriblyStrange Bed" and "The Yellow Mask" are founded.
Although the statement may appear somewhat superfluous to those who knowme, it may not be out of place to add, in conclusion, that these storiesare entirely of my own imagining, constructing, and writing. The factthat the events of some of my tales occur on foreign ground, and areacted out by foreign personages, appears to have suggested in somequarters the inference that the stories themselves might be of foreignorigin. Let me, once for all, assure any readers who may honor me withtheir attention, that in this, and in all other cases, they may dependon the genuineness of my literary offspring. The little children of mybrain may be weakly enough, and may be sadly in want of a helping handto aid them in their first attempts at walking on the stage of thisgreat world; but, at any rate, they are not borrowed children. Themembers of my own literary family are indeed increasing so fast as torender the very idea of borrowing quite out of the question, and tosuggest serious apprehension that I may not have done adding to thelarge book-population, on my own sole responsibility, even yet.
Leaves from Leah's Diary
*
26th February, 1827.—The doctor has just called for the third time toexamine my husband's eyes. Thank God, there is no fear at present of mypoor William losing his sight, provided he can be prevailed on toattend rigidly to the medical instructions for preserving it. Theseinstructions, which forbid him to exercise his profession for the nextsix months at least, are, in our case, very hard to follow. They willbut too probably sentence us to poverty, perhaps to actual want; butthey must be borne resignedly, and even thankfully, seeing that myhusband's forced cessation from work will save him from the dreadfulaffliction of loss of sight. I think I can answer for my owncheerfulness and endurance, now that we know the worst. Can I answer forour children also? Surely I can, when there are only two of them. It isa sad confession to make, but now, for the first time since my marriage,I feel thankful that we have no more.
17th.—A dread came over me last night, after I had comforted William aswell as I could about the future, and had heard him fall off to sleep,that the doctor had not told us the worst. Medical men do sometimesdeceive their patients, from what has always seemed to me to bemisdirected kindness of heart. The mere suspicion that I had beentrifled with on the subject of my husband's illness, caused me suchuneasiness, that I made an excuse to get out, and went in secret to thedoctor. Fortunately, I found him at home, and in three words I confessedto him the object of my visit.
He smiled, and said I might make myself easy; he had told us the worst.
"And that worst," I said, to make certain, "is, that for the next sixmonths my husband must allow his eyes to have the most perfect repose?"
"Exactly," the doctor answered. "Mind, I don't say that he may notdispense with his green shade, indoors, for an hour or two at a time, asthe inflammation gets subdued. But I do most positively repeat that hemust not employ his eyes. He must not touch a brush or pencil; he mustnot think of taking another likeness, on any consideration whatever, forthe next six months. His persisting in finishing those two portraits,at the time when his eyes first began to fail, was the real cause of allthe bad symptoms that we have had to combat ever since. I warned him(if you remember, Mrs. Kerby?) when he first came to practice in ourneighborhood."
"I know you did, sir," I replied. "But what was a poor travelingportrait-painter like my husband, who lives by taking likenesses firstin one place and then in another, to do? Our bread depended on his usinghis eyes, at the very time when you warned him to let them have a rest."
"Have you no other resources? No money but the money Mr. Kerby can getby portrait-painting?" asked the doctor.
"None," I answered, with a sinking at my heart as I thought of his billfor medical attendance.
"Will you pardon me?" he said, coloring and looking a little uneasy,"or, rather, will you ascribe it to the friendly interest I feel in you,if I ask whether Mr. Kerby realizes a comfortable income by thepractice of his profession? Don't," he went on anxiously, before Icould reply—"pray don't think I make this inquiry from a motive ofimpertinent curiosity!"
I felt quite satisfied that he could have no improper motive for askingthe question, and so answered it at once plainly and truly.
"My husband makes but a small income," I said. "Famous Londonportrait-painters get great prices from their sitters; but poor unknownartists, who only travel about the country, are obliged to work hard andbe contented with very small gains. After we have paid all that we owehere, I am afraid we shall have little enough left to retire on, when wetake refuge in some cheaper place."
"In that case," said the good doctor (I am so glad and proud to rememberthat I always liked him from the first!), "in that case, don't makeyourself anxious about my bill when you are thinking of clearing offyour debts here. I can afford to wait till Mr. Kerby's eyes are wellagain, and I shall then ask him for a likeness of my little daughter.By that arrangement we are sure to be both quits, and both perfectlysatisfied."
He considerately shook hands and bade me farewell before I could sayhalf the grateful words to him that were on my lips. Never, never shallI forget that he relieved me of my two heaviest anxieties at the mostanxious time of my life. The merciful, warm-hearted man! I could almosthave knelt down and kissed his doorstep, as I crossed it on my way home.
18th.—If I had not resolved, after what happened yesterday, to lookonly at the cheerful side of things for the future, the events ofto-day would have robbed me of all my courage, at the very outset ofour troubles. First, there was the casting up of our bills, and thediscovery, when the amount of them was balanced against all the moneywe have saved up, that we shall only have between three and four poundsleft in the cash-box, after we have got out of debt. Then there was thesad necessity of writing letters in my husband's name to the rich peoplewho were ready to employ him, telling them of the affliction that hadovertaken him, and of the impossibility of his executing their ordersfor portraits for the next six months to come. And, lastly, there wasthe heart-breaking business for me to go through of giving our landlordwarning, just as we had got comfortably settled in our new abode. IfWilliam could only have gone on with his work, we might have stopped inthis to