"Haggard, H Rider- The Wizard" - читать интересную книгу автора (Haggard H. Rider)

interest, at any rate in its beginning. Doubtless the sparse
congregation, so prone to slumber, discouraged him; for offering
exhortations to empty benches is but weary work. Indeed he was
meditating the advisability of bringing his argument to an abrupt
conclusion when, chancing to glance round, he became aware that he had
at least one sympathetic listener, his host, the Rev. Thomas Owen.

From that moment the sermon improved by degrees, till at length it
reached a really high level of excellence. Ceasing from rhetoric, the
speaker began to tell of his own experience and sufferings in the
Cause amongst savage tribes; for he himself was a missionary of many
years standing. He told how once he and a companion had been sent to a
nation, who named themselves the Sons of Fire because their god was
the lightning, if indeed they could be said to boast any gods other
than the Spear and the King. In simple language he narrated his
terrible adventures among these savages, the murder of his companion
by command of the Council of Wizards, and his own flight for his life;
a tale so interesting and vivid that even the bucolic sleepers
awakened and listened open-mouthed.

"But this is by the way," he went on; "for my Society does not ask you
to subscribe towards the conversion of the Children of Fire. Until
that people is conquered--which very likely will not be for
generations, seeing that they live in Central Africa, occupying a
territory that white men do not desire--no missionary will dare again
to visit them."

At this moment something caused him to look a second time at Thomas
Owen. He was leaning forward in his place listening eagerly, and a
strange light filled the large, dark eyes that shone in the pallor of
his delicate, nervous face.

"There is a man who would dare, if he were put to it," thought the
Deputation to himself. Then he ended his sermon.

That evening the two men sat at dinner in the rectory. It was a very
fine rectory, beautifully furnished; for Owen was a man of taste which
he had the means to gratify. Also, although they were alone, the
dinner was good--so good that the poor broken-down missionary, sipping
his unaccustomed port, a vintage wine, sighed aloud in admiration and
involuntary envy.

"What is the matter?" asked Owen.

"Nothing, Mr. Owen;" then, of a sudden thawing into candour, he added:
"that is, everything. Heaven forgive me; but I, who enjoy your
hospitality, am envious of you. Don't think too hardly of me; I have a
large family to support, and if only you knew what a struggle my life
is, and has been for the last twenty years, you would not, I am sure.
But you have never experienced it, and could not understand. 'The