CHAPTER XXXVII.
CONCLUSION.
Thou art our daughter, never loved as now, Thou gentlest maid, thou child of purity. MATURIN.
Fortunately, I say, not a word had been said of the trial which had blighted so many years of Emolyn Wyndeworth’s life.
The reading of Ann Whitlock’s confession was followed by a deep silence of some moments, during which nothing was heard but the low sound of Susan Palmer’s weeping.
At length Em. arose softly from her seat beside old Commodore Bruce, and went over and seated herself beside Susan, put her arms around the poor woman’s neck, kissed her, and murmured:
“So _that_ was what you meant, dear mother! How strange it all is! But _do_ not weep so! I _will_ love you all the same, dear, dear mother. Are seventeen years of tenderest motherhood to be blotted out by one hour’s revelation? Oh, no, no, no, my own dear mother, no! You and I have loved and worked and suffered too long and too closely together for that——”
“And John, too!” sobbed Susan. “Oh, _poor_ John! You were his favorite child, Em. He _was_ so fond of you!”
“Yes, and dear father, too! He _is_ so fond of me, mother. Ah! don’t weep so! Indeed, I love you—_more_ than ever!”
“Oh, Em., I know it is so selfish and _so_ mean in me to cry so hard about anything that brings so much good to you, but I can’t help—help—help it!” sobbed Susan.
“No, it is not selfish, dear mother. You haven’t a selfish vein in your body. It is natural. Didn’t you cry hard when you parted with your children who went to heaven, though you knew they were so much better off? And don’t everybody do so?”
“Ye—yes, and this is almost the same, Em. Almost as hard for me!”
“Only I wish you wouldn’t, dear mother, for I shall be _just_ the same to you as I was before, and come and help you to darn the stockings, or wash the dishes, _just_ as I did before. And if you don’t scold me just as much as you do the other children and—and father,” added Em., with a peculiar smile, “I shall think you don’t love me half as much as you do them.”
“We always loved the child that has gone to heaven the best, Em., and you will be to me like that. You are a good girl, Em., it’s me that’s mean and selfish to cry about your good fortune, and begrudge you to that poor lady who has suffered so much in this world, and who hasn’t got no other child, but only you, while I have so many girls and boys; and another one a-coming, as sure as you live, Em.—another one a-coming. But don’t you say a word about that—it is awful! Now, there, child, go speak to your mamma. She is very patient to wait for you so long. I’ll go and comfort John by telling him what you say. Oh, _poor_ John!”
And Susan Palmer arose and went out of the room to look for John, who had left the scene immediately at the end of the reading, to conceal all outward signs of his own inner trouble.
Meanwhile, the very first movement of Em. to join her foster-mother having broken the spell of silence that had followed the reading of the confession, the other members of the family gathering had fallen to whispering, exclaiming, or questioning Dr. Willet.
Em.’s first impulse to join them was checked by a feeling of diffidence, and she remained for some moments seated where Susan Palmer had left her, waiting the pleasure of her elders.
At length she glanced toward her parents.
They were sitting talking earnestly together in a low voice, seemingly quite absorbed in each other, though they had frequently looked across at their daughter without her consciousness of their regards.
Commodore Bruce and Dr. Willet sat together at some little distance from the other two, and somewhat nearer to Em., very gravely conversing, their gray heads bent closely together, the doctor pointing his arguments, whatever they were, with his right forefinger on his left palm; the commodore listening solemnly, nodding from time to time, and taking countless pinches of snuff.
A few words of their discourse necessarily reached Em.’s ears.
“He _must_ hear it some time or other,” said Dr. Willet.
“True, true; most true”—from the commodore, with a nod, a sigh, and a huge pinch of snuff.
“He will bear it better now, perhaps, than at any other time.”
“Humph, perhaps, you know best.”
“If you authorize me, I will myself take the disagreeable task off your hands and be his informant.”
“Yes, yes, doctor, do! I could never tell him myself! Never!”
While the two old men were still conversing, Em. turned her eyes from them and fixed them upon her parents.
At the same instant Emolyn Bruce looked up and met her daughter’s gaze.
The lady smiled and opened her arms.
Em. arose and crossed the room and gave herself to that fond embrace.
“Now we know the reason why we loved each other so, my darling, don’t we?” murmured the lady, as she folded her daughter to her bosom.
“Yes, dear mamma, yes, for my heart was drawn to you from the very first moment I saw you. I longed for you to love me then,” answered Em., returning love for love and kiss for kiss.
“Your papa, my dear,” whispered Emolyn, in a low tone.
Em. raised her head from the lady’s bosom to see bending over them both, the dark, handsome man whose very portrait she had worshiped long before she had ever seen him.
“Have you no place left in your heart for me, little daughter?” inquired the stranger, as he drew the girl to his bosom and pressed his lips to hers.
“I loved you long before I ever saw you, dear papa,” whispered Em., half shyly, half fondly.
“How is that, my little girl? You loved me before you ever saw me?” inquired the pleased young papa.
“Yes—and even before I ever _heard_ of you,” said Em.
“Explain,” said the object of this strange affection, with a smile and a caress.
“Well, I found your portrait in the attic at The Breezes, and I set it up in my room as an object of worship, having been struck with it before I knew to whom it belonged.”
“Who will say now that there is no instinct in natural affection?” demanded Leonidas.
That question was unanswerable; but after a little while Em. turned to her mamma and asked another.
“So it was for your lost child you always provided a yearly outfit of dainty clothing?”
“Yes, love; it was a fond, foolish fancy of mine; but not without benefit to others, since at the end of every year I gave away the raiment to those who needed it.”
At this moment Dr. Willet came up to the group, and laying his hand on the shoulder of the last speaker, said gravely:
“The commodore, Mr. Bruce, has authorized me to make a communication to you, which should no longer be withheld. Will you come with me into another room?”
The gentleman so addressed at once arose and followed the doctor, who took him into the disused dining-room of the old house, closed and locked the door, and then and there told him the terrible story of the false accusation and the trial to which his young wife had been subjected in his absence.
Leonidas was frightfully agitated while listening. He strode up and down the floor, most bitterly reproaching himself, groaning, weeping, as only brave men can weep, and bursting into exclamations of pity, rage, remorse.
It took all Dr. Willet’s skill and experience to reduce the fearfully excited man to anything like calmness and rationality.
“The dying woman was but a weak tool in this diabolical work! She has done what she could to atone for her share in it, and now she is beyond the reach of punishment. But Malvina Warde! that fiend in human shape! _She_ shall be prosecuted to the utmost extent of the law! I will spend every dollar I am worth to engage the best counsel to be had, to send her to the State prison.”
“Leonidas, the wretched woman is a family connection! You could not punish _her_ without——” began the doctor; but Bruce interrupted him in a voice of thunder:
“Don’t tell me about family credit, Dr. Willet! If she were my sister I should send her to the State Prison for such a cause!”
The doctor ceased to expostulate, thinking it best to let the infuriated man rage himself to exhaustion.
Presently, however, Leonidas Bruce came up to Dr. Willet and said:
“Doctor, if it had not been for you, Emolyn, _poor_ Emolyn, could never have lived through that terrible ordeal. You, with your constant charity, your wisdom, and your medical skill, bore her up, and sustained her in mind and body, or she must have sunk and perished in that fiery furnace of affliction. Doctor! so long as I may live in this world—ay! and in the next—I shall never forget your invaluable services, never cease to remember them with glowing gratitude. I should have expressed this to you before, for it is as true as truth; but the thought of that fiendish woman’s work put everything else out of my head. But, doctor, believe me——”
“Say no more, my dear friend. I have told you this tragic story to forestall any false or garbled account you might possibly receive of it. Now, my dear Leonidas, I advise you never to speak of it again, but to forget it as fast as you can.”
(“After I have sent that fiend in female form to the State Prison,” said Lonny to himself.)
“Now then, calm yourself and clear your brow, and let us go back to the ladies, lest they should think we are engaged here in some conspiracy.”
And they returned together to the parlor.
By this time it was midnight, and the moon was up.
The old commodore, resisting all John Palmer’s hospitable entreaties to spend the night at the Manor House, and declaring that he never slept out of his own bed if he could help it, ordered the carriage and the saddle horses to be brought to the door that he and his party might return to The Breezes.
“Mamma, dearest,” whispered Em., coming to the side of her beautiful lady mother—“mamma, dearest, leave me here for a few days with my _poor mother_, till she gets used to thinking of this change. Her heart is almost broken, mamma. You will leave me here a little while?”
“Yes, tender soul, I will leave you here to comfort your ‘poor mother.’ My own heart bleeds for that ‘poor mother.’ I will leave you with her for the present. It will not be for long, however; Susan’s own sense of right will cause her to bring you to me very soon.”
John and Susan Palmer were touched even to tears when they learned that Em. was to be left with them for the present.
“Just when he has returned and they have found her, and the lady so fond of her even before she knew who the child was!” whimpered Susan, drying her eyes on her apron.
“‘Sich is life,’” said John, in lack of anything else to say, and never had he quoted his favorite scrap of philosophy more _out_ of place.
When the commodore and his party were entering the carriage and mounting the horses, Susan Palmer and Em. stood with the lantern to light them.
When they had gone, Susan still lingered as if spellbound to the spot.
“What is the matter, mother dear?” inquired the girl.
“I was thinking, Em., that, after all, my poor baby did die.”
“Oh, dear mother, don’t use that word that you have so often told me isn’t true. The little baby didn’t die. It went to heaven with your own children, and instead of the baby on earth, you have another angel in heaven—an angel daughter as much fairer and brighter than she could have been on earth, as—look up, dear mother!—as that beautiful, brilliant star you see overhead, is fairer and brighter than this dull lantern we hold.”
When they re-entered the house, Em. said:
“I am going upstairs to send old Aunt Monica to bed, and to take her place by poor Aunty Whitlock. I can never believe she was wicked at heart.”
Meanwhile, Commodore Bruce and his party pursued their moonlight journey home, where they arrived about two o’clock in the morning.
To their surprise they found the family all up and the house lighted above and below.
“They must have sat up for us. It was foolish for them all to sit up for us,” said the old commodore, as he led the way into the house.
They were met in the drawing-room by Mrs. Templeton.
“Did you meet the messenger?” inquired that lady.
“No; what messenger?”
“Aleck was sent to the Wilderness to tell you.”
“What?”
“Malvina Warde is dead.”
“DEAD!” echoed the whole party in consternation.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“How did it happen?”
“It seems that she did not sleep well, and about an hour ago, hearing the clock strike one, and hearing the family still stirring below, she woke up her daughter, who was sleeping beside her, and asked what kept the family up so late. Belinda replied that they were waiting for the commodore and his party, who had gone to the Wilderness Manor-house to see the dying woman, Ann Whitlock. Whereupon Mrs. Warde got out of bed and went across the room, it was thought to procure a glass of water. In coming back to the bed she fell heavily to the floor. Belinda sprang out of bed and ran to her mother’s help, and raised her head from the floor. But she was quite dead.”
“She had organic disease of the heart. It might have been expected,” said Dr. Willet curtly.
“Vengeance is mine, and I will repay, saith the Lord,” reverently murmured Leonidas Bruce, raising his hat.
Whether Malvina Warde died of heart disease or of prussic acid self-administered, can never now be known. Her remains lie in the family burial ground in the Wilderness Manor, beside those of her tool and victim, Ann Whitlock, who penitently and peacefully expired the same night, with her hand clasped in that of her beloved foster-child, Em.
Belinda Warde was mercifully spared the knowledge of her mother’s crime. Immediately after the funeral she accepted the invitation of Mrs. Delaney Fanning, and went to make her home with that lady at beautiful “Belle Plains,” until her marriage the next year to a middle-aged colonel of marines.
Susan Palmer fully justified Emolyn’s faith in her sense of right. After keeping Em. for a few days, she voluntarily brought the girl to The Breezes, and willingly and cheerfully surrendered her to the charge of her rightful parents.
“We bring up our darters in care and toil, and if we don’t lose ’em by death, we’re most sure to lose ’em by marriage. So what dif’ence do it make anyway, Susan, my dear, when ‘sich is life?’” said John when his wife came back without his favorite child.
“Em. loves us and we love her, therefore we can never really lose her in this world nor the next,” answered Susan.
Among all who rejoiced in the good fortune of our little girl, none did so more sincerely than the poor colored people of the Wilderness Manor, whose affections her goodness had won.
“Miss Em. deserves it all,” said old ’Sias, the gatekeeper—“Miss Em. deserves all that, and more too. For I never knowed sich a little angel as she is in all the days of my yethly pilgrimage, and that mus’ be by dis time ’bout two hundred years, chillun! Two hundred years, more or less—more or _less_, honies; for I wouldn’t be guilty of a falsehood on no account,” added ’Sias, solemnly.
“Yes, Miss Em. was a good gal, sure enough,” put in Aunt Sally. “Miss Em. never meant no harm, and she never did nothing to nobody.”
“‘_Never did nothing to nobody!_’” repeated old ’Sias, in supreme scorn. “_That’s_ your notion of an angel and of Miss Em., is it? You put my pipe out with your ‘Never did nothing to nobody!’ Miss Em. was always doing good to everybody, there!”
“Well, I thinks as people what means no harm and never does nothing to nobody is a heap gooder than them as is always a-aggrawating people,” retorted Sally.
Before taking leave of old ’Sias I must mention one circumstance of which I hope my readers will be glad, for his sake.
Sereny, to use her own words, “got religion.” She really _did_, if a total though gradual change of heart and life and manners for the better was any proof of it. And she became at last what she had promised to be at first, the comfort of her poor, old, patient husband’s latter days.
In the spring of the following year Ronald and Emolyn were married.
Ronald, who was, in the right of his wife, the owner and the heir of more wealth than he would ever know what to do with, resigned his commission in the Navy.
“It is all very well,” he said, “to talk of the duty of serving one’s country, but there are hundreds of men who are just as able and as willing to serve as I am, and who need my position a great deal more than I do. I must resign to make room for one of them—as well as to stay home with my bonny bride.”
Of course Em. agreed with him in this.
Their honeymoon was spent at Edengarden, while the Wilderness Manor-house, which had been given to Em. as her marriage portion, was being renovated to receive the newly wedded pair.
John Palmer and his family were to continue to live in the Red Wing and manage the estate.
Mr. and Mrs. Leonidas Bruce consented to reside at The Breezes as long as the aged commodore should live.
THE END
------------------------------------------------------------------------
POPULAR BOOKS
By MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH
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Beautiful Fiend, A Brandon Coyle’s Wife Sequel to A Skeleton in the Closet Bride’s Fate, The Sequel to The Changed Brides Bride’s Ordeal, The Capitola’s Peril Sequel to the Hidden Hand Changed Brides, The Cruel as the Grave David Lindsay Sequel to Gloria Deed Without a Name, A Dorothy Harcourt’s Secret Sequel to A Deed Without a Name “Em” Em’s Husband Sequel to “Em” Fair Play For Whose Sake Sequel to Why Did He Wed Her? For Woman’s Love Fulfilling Her Destiny Sequel to When Love Commands Gloria Her Love or Her life Sequel to The Bride’s Ordeal Her Mother’s Secret Hidden Hand, The How He Won Her Sequel to Fair Play Ishmael Leap in the Dark, A Lilith Sequel to the Unloved Wife Little Nea’s Engagement Sequel to Nearest and Dearest Lost Heir, The Lost Lady of Lone, The Love’s Bitterest Cup Sequel to Her Mother’s Secret Mysterious Marriage, The Sequel to A Leap in the Dark Nearest and Dearest Noble Lord, A Sequel to The Lost Heir Self-Raised Sequel to Ishmael Skeleton in the Closet, A Struggle of a Soul, The Sequel to The Lost Lady of Lone Sweet Love’s Atonement Test of Love, The Sequel to A Tortured Heart To His Fate Sequel to Dorothy Harcourt’s Secret Tortured Heart, A Sequel to The Trail of the Serpent Trail of the Serpent, The Tried for Her Life Sequel to Cruel as the Grave Unloved Wife, The Unrequited Love, An Sequel to For Woman’s Love Victor’s Triumph Sequel to A Beautiful Fiend When Love Commands When Shadows Die Sequel to Love’s Bitterest Cup Why Did He Wed Her? Zenobia’s Suitors Sequel to Sweet Love’s Atonement
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EM’S HUSBAND
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Good Fiction Worth Reading.
A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the field of historical fiction, replete with powerful romances of love and diplomacy that excel in thrilling and absorbing interest.
=A COLONIAL FREE-LANCE.= A story of American Colonial Times. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
A book that appeals to Americans as a vivid picture of Revolutionary scenes. The story is a strong one, a thrilling one. It causes the true American to flush with excitement, to devour chapter after chapter, until the eyes smart, and it fairly smokes with patriotism. The love story is a singularly charming idyl.
=THE TOWER OF LONDON.= A Historical Romance of the Times of Lady Jane Grey and Mary Tudor. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00.
This romance of the “Tower of London” depicts the Tower as palace, prison and fortress, with many historical associations. The era is the middle of the sixteenth century.
The story is divided into two parts, one dealing with Lady Jane Grey, and the other with Mary Tudor as Queen, introducing other notable characters of the era. Throughout the story holds the interest of the reader in the midst of intrigue and conspiracy, extending considerably over a half a century.
=IN DEFIANCE OF THE KING.= A Romance of the American Revolution. By Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
Mr. Hotchkiss has etched in burning words a story of Yankee bravery, and true love that thrills from beginning to end, with the spirit of the Revolution. The heart beats quickly, and we feel ourselves taking a part in the exciting scenes described. His whole story is so absorbing that you will sit up far into the night to finish it. As a love romance it is charming.
=GARTHOWEN.= A story of a Welsh Homestead. By Allen Raine. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
“This is a little idyl of humble life and enduring love, laid bare before us, very real and pure, which in its telling shows us some strong points of Welsh character—the pride, the hasty temper, the quick dying out of wrath.... We call this a well-written story, interesting alike through its romance and its glimpses into another life than ours. A delightful and clever picture of Welsh village life. The result is excellent.”—Detroit Free Press.
=MIFANWY.= The story of a Welsh Singer. By Allan Raine. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
“This is a love story, simple, tender and pretty as one would care to read. The action throughout is brisk and pleasing; the characters, it is apparent at once, are as true to life as though the author had known them all personally. Simple in all its situations, the story is worked up in that touching and quaint strain which never grows wearisome, no matter how often the lights and shadows of love are introduced. It rings true, and does not tax the imagination.”—Boston Herald.
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52–58 Duane St., New York.
=DARNLEY.= A Romance of the times of Henry VIII. and Cardinal Wolsey. By G. P. R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
In point of publication, “Darnley” is that work by Mr. James which follows “Richelieu,” and, if rumor can be credited. It was owing to the advice and insistence of our own Washington Irving that we are indebted primarily for the story, the young author questioning whether he could properly paint the difference in the characters of the two great cardinals. And it is not surprising that James should have hesitated; he had been eminently successful in giving to the world the portrait of Richelieu as a man, and by attempting a similar task with Wolsey as the theme, was much like tempting fortune. Irving insisted that “Darnley” came naturally in sequence, and this opinion being supported by Sir Walter Scott, the author set about the work.
As a historical romance “Darnley” is a book that can be taken up pleasurably again and again, for there is about it that subtle charm which those who are strangers to the works of G. P. R. James have claimed was only to be imparted by Dumas.
If there was nothing more about the work to attract especial attention, the account of the meeting of the kings on the historic “field of the cloth of gold” would entitle the story to the most favorable consideration of every reader.
There is really but little pure romance in this story, for the author has taken care to imagine love passages only between those whom history has credited with having entertained the tender passion one for another, and he succeeds in making such lovers as all the world must love.
=CAPTAIN BRAND, OF THE SCHOONER CENTIPEDE.= By Lieut. Henry A. Wise, U.S.N. (Harry Gringo). Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
The re-publication of this story will please those lovers of sea yarns who delight in so much of the salty flavor of the ocean as can come through the medium of a printed page, for never has a story of the sea and those “who go down in ships” been written by one more familiar with the scenes depicted.
The one book of this gifted author which is best remembered, and which will be read with pleasure for many years to come, is “Captain Brand,” who, as the author states on his title page, was a “pirate of eminence in the West Indies.” As a sea story pure and simple, “Captain Brand” has never been excelled, and as a story of piratical life, told without the usual embellishments of blood and thunder, it has no equal.
=NICK OF THE WOODS.= A story of the Early Settlers of Kentucky. By Robert Montgomery Bird. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
This most popular novel and thrilling story of early frontier life in Kentucky was originally published in the year 1837. The novel, long out of print, had in its day a phenomenal sale, for its realistic presentation of Indian and frontier life in the early days of settlement in the South, narrated in the tale with all the art of a practiced writer. A very charming love romance runs through the story. This new and tasteful edition of “Nick of the Woods” will be certain to make many new admirers for this enchanting story from Dr. Bird’s clever and versatile pen.
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, =A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52–58 Duane St., New York=.
=GUY FAWKES.= A Romance of the Gunpowder Treason. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00.
The “Gunpowder Plot” was a modest attempt to blow up Parliament, the King and his Counsellors. James of Scotland, then King of England, was weak-minded and extravagant. He hit upon the efficient scheme of extorting money from the people by imposing taxes on the Catholics. In their natural resentment to this extortion, a handful of bold spirits concluded to overthrow the government. Finally the plotters were arrested, and the King put to torture Guy Fawkes and the other prisoners with royal vigor. A very intense love story runs through the entire romance.
=THE SPIRIT OF THE BORDER.= A Romance of the Early Settlers in the Ohio Valley. By Zane Grey. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
A book rather out of the ordinary is this “Spirit of the Border.” The main thread of the story has to do with the work of the Moravian missionaries in the Ohio Valley. Incidentally the reader is given details of the frontier life of those hardy pioneers who broke the wilderness for the planting of this great nation. Chief among these, as a matter of course, is Lewis Wetzel, one of the most peculiar, and at the same time the most admirable of all the brave men who spent their lives battling with the savage foe, that others might dwell in comparative security.
Details of the establishment and destruction of the Moravian “Village of Peace” are given at some length, and with minute description. The efforts to Christianize the Indians are described as they never have been before, and the author has depicted the characters of the leaders of the several Indian tribes with great care, which of itself will be of interest to the student.
By no means least among the charms of the story are the vivid word-pictures of the thrilling adventures, and the intense paintings of the beauties of nature, as seen in the almost unbroken forests.
It is the spirit of the frontier which is described, and one can by it, perhaps, the better understand why men, and women, too, willingly braved every privation and danger that the westward progress of the star of empire might be the more certain and rapid. A love story, simple and tender, runs through the book.
=RICHELIEU.= A tale of France in the reign of King Louis XIII. By G. P. R. James. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
In 1829 Mr. James published his first romance, “Richelieu,” and was recognized at once as one of the masters of the craft.
In this book he laid the story during those later days of the great cardinal’s life, when his power was beginning to wane, but while it was yet sufficiently strong to permit now and then of volcanic outbursts which overwhelmed foes and carried friends to the topmost wave of prosperity. One of the most striking portions of the story is that of Cinq Mar’s conspiracy; the method of conducting criminal cases, and the political trickery resorted to by royal favorites, affording a better insight into the statecraft of that day than can be had even by an exhaustive study of history. It is a powerful romance of love and diplomacy, and in point of thrilling and absorbing interest has never been excelled.
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, =A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52–58 Duane St., New York=.
=WINDSOR CASTLE.= A Historical Romance of the Reign of Henry VIII., Catharine of Aragon and Anne Boleyn. By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by George Cruikshank. Price, $1.00.
“Windsor Castle” is the story of Henry VIII., Catharine, and Anne Boleyn. “Bluff King Hal,” although a well-loved monarch, was none too good a one in many ways. Of all his selfishness and unwarrantable acts, none was more discreditable than his divorce from Catharine, and his marriage to the beautiful Anne Boleyn. The King’s love was as brief as it was vehement. Jane Seymour, waiting maid on the Queen, attracted him, and Anne Boleyn was forced to the block to make room for her successor. This romance is one of extreme interest to all readers.
=HORSESHOE ROBINSON.= A tale of the Tory Ascendency in South Carolina in 1780. By John P. Kennedy. Cloth, 12mo. with four illustrations by J. Watson Davis. Price, $1.00.
Among the old favorites in the field of what is known as historical fiction, there are none which appeal to a larger number of Americans than Horseshoe Robinson, and this because it is the only story which depicts with fidelity to the facts the heroic efforts of the colonists in South Carolina to defend their homes against the brutal oppression of the British under such leaders as Cornwallis and Tarleton.
The reader is charmed with the story of love which forms the thread of the tale, and then impressed with the wealth of detail concerning those times. The picture of the manifold sufferings of the people, is never overdrawn, but painted faithfully and honestly by one who spared neither time nor labor in his efforts to present in this charming love story all that price in blood and tears which the Carolinians paid as their share in the winning of the republic.
Take it all in all, “Horseshoe Robinson” is a work which should be found on every book-shelf, not only because it is a most entertaining story, but because of the wealth of valuable information concerning the colonists which it contains. That it has been brought out once more, well illustrated, is something which will give pleasure to thousands who have long desired an opportunity to read the story again, and to the many who have tried vainly in these latter days to procure a copy that they might read it for the first time.
=THE PEARL OF ORR’S ISLAND.= A story of the Coast of Maine. By Harriet Beecher Stowe. Cloth, 12mo. Illustrated. Price, $1.00.
Written prior to 1862, the “Pearl of Orr’s Island” is ever new; a book filled with delicate fancies, such as seemingly array themselves anew each time one reads them. One sees the “sea like an unbroken mirror all around the pine-girt, lonely shores of Orr’s Island,” and straightway comes “the heavy, hollow moan of the surf on the beach, like the wild angry howl of some savage animal.”
Who can read of the beginning of that sweet life, named Mara, which came into this world under the very shadow of the Death angel’s wings, without having an intense desire to know how the premature bud blossomed? Again and again one lingers over the descriptions of the character of that baby boy Moses, who came through the tempest, amid the angry billows, pillowed on his dead mother’s breast.
There is no more faithful portrayal of New England life than that which Mrs. Stowe gives in “The Pearl of Orr’s Island.”
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, =A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52–58 Duane St., New York=.
The Popular Charles Garvice Books
[Illustration: [book]]
This series of Popular Fiction comprises the best novels written by that popular author, Charles Garvice, well-known throughout England and America for his stories dealing with the lives and interests of the common people.
Bound in Handsome Cloth Binding.
All Copyright Books. =Price, 60 Cents.=
=A Heritage of Hate=, or A Change of Heart. =A Life’s Mistake=, or Love’s Forgiveness. =A Modern Juliet=, or The Unknown Future. =At Love’s Cost=, or Her Rival’s Triumph. =Better than Life=, or Her Bitter Cup. =By Devious Ways=, or Love Will Find a Way. =Heart for Heart=, or Love’s Queer Pranks. =In Cupid’s Chains=, or A Slave for Life. =Just A Girl=, or The Strange Duchess. =Love, The Tyrant=, or Where Her Heart Led. =Maida=, or A Child of Sorrow. =Marcia Drayton=, or Her Heart’s First Choice. =Nell of Shorne Mills=, or One Heart’s Burden. =Once in A Life=, or The Secret of Her Heart. =Queen Kate=, or A Willful Lassie. =The Outcast of the Family=, or A Battle of Love and Pride. =The Story of A Passion=, or Guided by Her Heart. =The Shadow of Her Life=, or Love’s Mistake. =’Twas Love’s Fault=, or A Young Girl’s Trust. =With All Her Heart=, or Love Begets Faith.
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers, =A. L. BURT COMPANY, 52–58 Duane St., New York=.
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Page Changed from Changed to
22 “Em., hush! you’re crazy!” “Em., hush! you’re crazy!” broken in Susan Palmer broke in Susan Palmer
43 clapped her hands over he clapped her hands over he own lips own lips
everywhere Abishav or Abishag Abishey
● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.