Read "The Postmaster of Market Deignton" by E. Phillips Oppenheim online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
The sunshine has died out from the autumn day as I cross the downward slope of Culdon Hills and set my face towards home. The west is gorgeous with the blood-red colouring of a stormy sunset, and a few raindrops, the last of a slight shower, are falling. On the left hes Deignton Court with its Corinthian front, and imposing array of windows, and as I catch a glimpse of it through the trees, my heart grows for a moment wonderfully light. At least, I have broken for ever those bonds which at one time I stooped to wear. Not so long ago, men and women spoke of me as Lady Deignton's _bon ami_. Never again! I have passed through the fires unscathed. I am untrammelled now, at any rate, free to work out my own release, to fulfil my own destiny. The pure, cold air seems all the sweeter to me when I remember the enervating but dainty fragrance of that little blue chamber where I have fought my battle. My heart is buoyant with a certain vague sense of relief, and as I plunge into the beech woods and almost lose myself amongst the gaunt, weird shadows, I am walking side by side with pleasant thoughts. It is close by this spot that I met her for the first time--this girl whose proud, pure face had flashed into my memory just in time to save me from folly, just in time to loll that single spark of reawakened passion for the woman whose desire it had seemed to be to kindle it. Then I remember that it is my own hand which has brought her here, that it is I who am responsible for the omission of that one word from Lady Deignton's peremptory telegram.
Is there anything of fate in it, I wonder? Is she destined to help me in my task? or--But the other side I thrust away. I will not consider it; I have had enough of the miseries.