The Hill of Venus
Page 33
CHAPTER VIII
THE ANCHORESS OF NARNI
Six days had passed. Once more the sun had tossed night from the skyand kindled hope in the hymning east. The bleak wilderness barrieredby sea and crag had mellowed into the golden silence of the autumnalwoods. The very trees seemed tongued with prophetic flame. The worldleaped radiant out of the dawn.
Through the reddened woods rode Francesco, the Duke of Spoleto silentby his side. Gloom still reigned on the pale, haggard face and therewas no lustre in the eyes that challenged ever the lurking shade ofDeath. Six nights and six days had the quest been baffled. Near andfar armor glimmered in the reddened sanctuaries of the woods. Not atrumpet brayed, though a host had scattered in search of a woman'sface.
On the seventh day, the trees drew back before Francesco where theshimmering waters of the Nera streaked the meads. Peace dwelled thereand calm eternal, as of the Spirit that heals the throes of men. Rareand golden lay the dawn-light on the valleys. The songs of the birdscame glad and multitudinous as in the burgeoning dawn of a gloriousday.
Francesco had halted under a great oak. His head was bare in thesun-steeped shadows, his face was the face of one weary with longwatching under the voiceless stars. Great dread possessed him. Hedared not question his own soul.
A horn sounded in the woods, wild, clamorous and exultant. It was asthe voice of a prophet, clearing the despair of a godless world. Eventhe trees stood listening. Far below, in the green shadows of thevalley, a horseman spurred his steed.
Francesco's eyes were upon him. Yet he dared not hope, gripped by agreat fear.
"I am even as a child," he said.
The duke's lips quivered.
"The dawn breaks,--the night is past. Tidings come to us. Let us rideout!"
Francesco seemed lost in thought. He bowed his head and looked longinto the valley.
"Am I he who slew Raniero Frangipani?"
"Courage!" said the duke.
"My blood is as water, my heart as wax. Death and destiny are over myhead!"
"Speak not to me of destiny and look not to the skies! I have closedmy account with Heaven! In himself is man's power! You have broken thecrucifix! Now trust your own soul. So long as you did serve asuperstition had you lost your true heaven!"
"And yet--"
"You have played the god, and the Father in Heaven must love you foryour strength! God does not love a coward! He will let you rule yourdestiny--not destiny your soul!"
"Strange words--"
"But true! Were I God, should I love the monk puling prayers in a den?Nay--that man should I choose who dared to follow the dictates of hisown soul and strangle Fate with the grip of truth. Great deeds arebetter than mumbled prayers!"
The horseman in the valley had swept at a gallop through a sea ofsun-bronzed fern. His eyes were full of a restless glitter, as theeyes of a man, whose heart is troubled. He sprang from the saddle,and, leading his horse by the bridle, bent low before the twain.
"Tidings, my lord!"
"I listen!"--
The horseman looked for a moment in Francesco's face but, hardened ashe was, he dared not abide the trial. There was such a stare ofdesperate calm in the dark eyes, that his courage failed and quailedfrom the truth. He hung his head and stood mute.
"I listen--"
"My lord--"
"For God's sake, speak out!"
"My lord--"
"The truth!"--
"She lives--"
A great silence fell within the hearts of the three, an ecstasy ofsilence, such as comes after the wail of a storm. The duke's lips werecompressed, as if he feared to give expression to his feelings.Francesco's face was as the face of one who thrusts back hope out ofhis soul. He sat rigid on his horse, a stone image fronting Fate,grim-eyed and steadfast. All his life had been one long sacrifice, onelong denial,--had it all been in vain?
There were tears in the eyes of the man-at-arms.
"What more?"
The horseman leaned against his horse, his arm hooked over its neck.
He pointed to the valley.
"Yonder lies Narni. Beyond the Campanile of St. Juvenal is asanctuary. You can see it yonder by the ford. Two holy women dwelltherein. To them, my lord, I commend you!"
"You know more!"
The voice that spoke was terrible.
"Spare me, my lord! The words are for women's lips, not for mine!"
"So be it!"
The three rode in silence, Francesco and the duke together, lookingmutely into each other's face. Francesco's head was bowed to hisbreast. The reins lay loose on his horse's neck.
A gray cell of roughly hewn stone showed amidst the green boughsbeyond the water. At its door stood a woman in a black mantle. A crosshung from her neck and a white kerchief bound her hair. She stoodmotionless, half in the shadow, watching the horsemen as they rodedown to the rippling fords.
Autumn had touched the sanctuary garden, and Francesco's eyes beheldruin as he climbed the slope. The woman had come from the cell, andnow stood at the wicket-gate with her hands folded as if in prayer.
The horseman took Francesco's bridle. The latter went on foot alone tospeak with the anchoress.
"My lord," she said, kneeling at his feet, "God save and comfortyou!"--
The man's brow was twisted into furrows. His right hand clasped hisleft wrist. He looked over the woman's head into the woods, andbreathed fast through clenched teeth.
"Speak!" he said.
"My lord, the woman lives!"
"I can bear the truth!"
The anchoress made the sign of the cross.
"She came to us here in the valley, my lord, tall and white as a lily,her hair loose upon her neck. Her feet were bare and bleeding, hersoles rent with thorns. And as she came, she sang wild snatches of asong, such as tells of love, and of Proserpina, Goddess of Shades. Wetook her, my lord, gave her meat and drink, bathed her torn feet, andgave her raiment. She abode with us, ever gentle and lovely, yetspeaking like one who had suffered, even to the death. And yet,--evenas we slept, she stole away from us last night, and now is gone!"--
The woman had never so much as raised her eyes to the man's face. Herhands held her crucifix, and she was ashen pale, even as new-hewnstone.
"And is this all?"
The man's voice trembled in his throat. His face was terrible tobehold in the sun.
"Not all, my lord!"
"Say on!"
The anchoress had buried her face in her black mantle. Her voice washusky with tears.
"My lord, you seek one bereft of reason!"
"Mad!"
"Alas!"
A great cry came from Francesco's lips.
"My God! This, then, is the end!"
CHAPTER IX
THE DAWN
An undefined melancholy overshadowed the world. Autumn breathed in thewind. The year, red-bosomed, was rushing to its doom.
On the summit of a wood-crowned hill, rising like a pyramid above moorand forest, stood two men silent under the shadows of an oak. In thedistance glimmered the sea, and by a rock upon the hillside, armedmen, a knot of spears, shone like spirit sentinels athwart the west.Mists were creeping up the valleys, as the sun went down into the sea.A few sparse stars gleamed out like souls still tortured by themysteries of life. An inevitable pessimism seemed to challenge theuniverse, taking for its parable the weird afterglow of the west.
Deep in the woods a voice sang wild and solitary in the gatheringgloom. Like the cry of a ghost, it seemed to set the silencequivering, the leaves quaking with windless awe. The men who lookedtowards the sea heard it, a song that echoed in the heart like woe.
The duke pointed into the darkening wood.
"Trust your own heart: self is the man! Through a mistaken sense ofduty have you been brought nigh unto death and despair! Trust not insophistry: the laws of men are carven upon stone, the laws of Heavenupon the heart! Be strong! From henceforth, scorn mere words! Trampletradition in the dust! Trust yourself, and the God in your he
art!"
The distant voice had sunk into silence. Francesco listened for itwith hands aloft.
"I must go," he said.
"Go!"--
"I must be near her through the night!"
"The moon stands full upon the hills! I will await you here!"
Dim were the woods that autumn evening, dim and deep with an ecstasyof gloom. Stars flickered in the heavens; the moon came and envelopedthe trees with silver flame. A primeval calm lay heavy upon the bosomof the night. The spectral branches of the trees pointed rigid andmotionless towards the sky.
Francesco had left the duke gazing out upon the shimmering sea. Thevoice called to him from the woods with plaintive peals of song. Theman followed it, holding to a grass-grown track that curled at randominto the gloom. Moonlight and shadow lay alternate upon his armor.Hope and despair battled in his face. His soul leaped voiceless andinarticulate into the darkened shrine of prayer.
The voice came to him clearer in the forest calm. The gulf hadnarrowed, the words flew as over the waters of Death. They were pure,yet meaningless, passionate, yet void; words barbed with an utterpathos, that silenced desire.
For an hour Francesco roamed in the woods, drawing ever nearer, thefear in him increasing with every step. Anon the voice failed him by alittle stream that quivered dimly through the grass. A stillness thatwas ghostly held the woods. The moonlight seemed to shudder on thetrees. A stupendous silence weighed upon the world.
A hollow glade opened suddenly in the woods, a white gulf in a forestgloom. Water shone there, a mere rush-ringed and full of mysteriousshadows, girded by the bronzed foliage of a thousand oaks. Moss grewthick about the roots, dead leaves covered the grass.
And ever and anon a dead leaf dropped silently to earth, like a hopethat has died on the Tree of Life.
Francesco knelt in a patch of bracken and looked out over the glades.A figure went to and fro by the water's brim, a figure pale in themoonlight, as the form of the restless dead. The man kneeling in thebracken pressed his hands over his breast; his face seemed to startout of the gloom as the face of one who struggles in the sea,submerged, yet desperate.
Francesco saw the woman halt beside the mere. He saw her bend, takewater in her palms and dash it in her face. Standing in the moonlight,she smoothed her hair between her fingers, her hands shining white asivory against the dark bosom of her dress. She seemed to murmur toherself the while, words wistful and full of woe. Once she thrust herhands to the sky and cried: "Francesco! Francesco!" The man kneelingin the shadows quivered like a wind-shaken reed.
The moon climbed higher and the woman by the mere spread her cloakupon a patch of heather and laid herself thereon. Not a sound brokethe silence; the woods were mute, the air lifeless as the steelywater. An hour passed. The figure on the heather lay still as aneffigy on a tomb. The man in the bracken cast one look at the stars,then crossed himself and crept out into the moonlight.
Holding the scabbard of his sword, he skirted the mere with shimmeringarmor, went down upon his knees and crawled slowly over the grass.Hours seemed to elapse before the black patch of heather spread crispand dry beneath his hands. Breathing through dilated nostrils, hetrembled like one who creeps to stab a sleeping friend. The moonlightseemed to shower sparks upon him, as with supernatural glory. Tenseanguish seemed to fill the night with sound.
Two more paces and he was close at the woman's side. The heathercrackled beneath his knees. He held his breath, crept nearer, andknelt so near that he could have kissed Ilaria's face. Her head laypillowed on her arm. Her hair spread as in a dusky halo beneath it.Her bosom moved with the rhythmic calm of dreamless sleep. Her lipswere parted in a smile. One hand was hid in the dark folds of herrobe.
Francesco knelt with upturned face, his eyes shut to the sky. Heseemed like one faint with pain; his lips moved as in prayer. Ahundred inarticulate pleadings surged heavenward from his heart.
Again he bent over her and watched the pure girlish face as she slept.A strange calm fell for a time upon him; his eyes never wavered fromthe white arm and the glimmering hair. Vast awe held him in thrall. Hewas as one who broods tearless and amazed over the dead, calm face ofone beloved above all on earth.
Hours passed and Francesco found no sustenance, save in prayer. Theunuttered yearnings of a world seemed molten in his soul. The moonwaned. The stars grew dim. Strange sounds stirred in the forest-deeps;the mysterious breathing of a thousand trees. Life ebbed and flowedwith the sigh of a moon-stupored sea. Visions blazed in the night-skyand faded away.
Hours passed. Neither sleeper nor watcher stirred. The night grewfaint. The water flickered in the mere. The very stars seemed to gazeupon the destinies of two wearied souls.
Far and faint came the quaver of a bird's note. Gray and mysteriousstood the forest spires. Light! Light at last! Spears of amber dartingin the east. A shudder seemed to shake the universe. The great vaultkindled. The sky grew luminous with gold.
It was the dawn.
Ilaria stirred in her sleep. Her mouth quivered, her hair stirredsudden under the heather, like tendrils of gold shivering in the sun.
Even as the light increased, Francesco knelt and looked down upon her.Hope and life, glorious, sudden, seemed to fall out of the east, aradiant faith begotten of spirit-power. Banners of gold were streamingin the sky. The gloom fled. A vast expectancy hung solemn, breathless,upon the red lips of the day.
A sigh, and the long, silken lashes quivered. The lips moved, the eyesopened.
"Ilaria! Ilaria!"
Sudden silence followed, a vast hush as of undreamed hope. The woman'seyes were silently searching the man's face. He bent and cowered overher as one who weeps. His hands touched her body, yet she did notstir.
"Ilaria! Ilaria!"
It was a hoarse, passionate outcry that broke the golden stupor of thedawn. A sudden light leaped lustrous into the woman's eyes, her faceshone radiant in its etherealized beauty.
"Francesco!"
"Ah! At last!"
A great shudder passed through her body. Her eyes grew big with fear.
"Speak to me!"
"Ilaria!"
"Raniero?"
"Dead!"
A great silence held for a moment. The woman's head sank upon theman's shoulder. Madness had passed. Her eyes were fixed upon his witha wonderful earnestness, a splendid calm.
"Is this a dream?"
"It is the truth!"
Through the forest aisles rode the Duke of Spoleto.
He saw and paused.
"I return beyond the Alps to join the forces of Rudolf of Hapsburg. Mymen are at your disposal. I shall wait for you on yonder hillock."
He wheeled about and was gone.
Again silence held for a pace.
Presently Ilaria gave a great sigh and looked strangely at the sun.
"I have dreamed a dream," she crooned, "and all was dark and fearful.Death seemed near; lurid phantoms,--things from hell! I knew not whatI did, nor where I wandered, nor what strange stupor held my soul. Allmy being cried out to you--yet all was dark about me, horriblemidnight, peopled with foul forms! Oh, that night,--that night--"
Shivering, she covered her eyes as if trying to banish the memory.
"It has passed," she breathed after a pause, during which Francescohad taken her in his arms, kissing her eyes, her lips, and thesylph-like, flower-soft face. "I see the dawn!"
"Our dawn!"--Francesco replied, pointing to the hillock beyond.
For a time there was a great silence, as if the fates of two soulswere being weighed in the scales of destiny.
It was Francesco who spoke.
"How you have suffered!"
She crept very close to him, smiling up at him with the old-time smilethrough tear-dimmed eyes.
"It counts for naught now! Are not you with me?"
The sky burned azure above the tree-tops. Transient sunshafts quiveredthrough the vaulted dome of breathless leaves, as slowly Francesco andIlaria strode towards the camp of the Duke of Spoleto on t
hesun-bathed hillock above the Nera.
The End.
* * * * *
POLLYANNA
_By Eleanor H. Porter_
Author of "Miss Billy," "Miss Billy's Decision," etc.
_12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, net $1.25; postpaid $1.40_
"Enter Pollyanna! She is the daintiest, dearest, most irresistiblemaid you have met in all your journeyings through Bookland. And youforget she is a story girl, for Pollyanna is so real that after yourfirst introduction you will feel the inner circle of your friends hasadmitted a new member. A brave, winsome, modern American girl,Pollyanna walks into print to take her place in the hearts of allmembers of the family."
_Of "Miss Billy" the critics have written as follows:_
"To say of any story that it makes the reader's heart feel warm and happy is to pay it praise of sorts, undoubtedly. Well, that's the very praise one gives 'Miss Billy.'"--_Edwin L. Shuman in the Chicago Record-Herald._
"The story is delightful and as for Billy herself--she's _all right_!"--_Philadelphia Press._
"There is a fine humor in the book, some good revelation of character and plenty of romance of the most unusual order."--_The Philadelphia Inquirer._
"There is something altogether fascinating about 'Miss Billy,' some inexplicable feminine characteristic that seems to demand the individual attention of the reader from the moment we open the book until we reluctantly turn the last page."--_Boston Transcript._
"The book is a wholesome story, as fresh in tone as it is graceful in expression, and one may predict for it a wide audience."--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._
"Miss Billy is so carefree, so original and charming, that she lives in the reader's memory long after the book has been laid aside."--_Boston Globe._
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* * * * *
THE CAREER OF DR. WEAVER
_By Mrs. Henry W. Backus_
_12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated, net $1.25; postpaid $1.40_
A big and purposeful story interwoven about the responsibilities andproblems in the medical profession of the present day. Dr. Weaver, anoted specialist, and head of a private hospital, had allowed himselfto drift away from the standards of his youth in his desire for wealthand social and scientific prestige. When an expose of the methodsemployed by him in furthering his schemes for the glorifying of thename of "Weaver" in the medical world is threatened, it is frustratedthrough the efforts of the famous doctor's younger brother, Dr. Jim.The story is powerful and compelling, even if it uncovers the problemsand temptations of a physician's career. Perhaps the most importantcharacter, not even excepting Dr. Weaver and Dr. Jim, is "The Girl,"who plays such an important part in the lives of both men.
"The story becomes one of those absorbing tales of to-day which the reader literally devours in an evening, unwilling to leave the book until the last page is reached, and constantly alert, through the skill of the author, in following the characters through the twisted ways of their career."--_Boston Journal._
"The story is well-written, unique, quite out of the usual order, and is most captivating."--_Christian Intelligencer._
* * * * *
THE HILL OF VENUS
_By Nathan Gallizier_
Author of "Castel del Monte," "The Sorceress of Rome," "The Court ofLucifer," etc.
_12mo, cloth decorative, with four illustrations in color, net $1.35;postpaid $1.50_
This is a vivid and powerful romance of the thirteenth century in thetimes of the great Ghibelline wars, and deals with the fortunes ofFrancesco Villani, a monk, who has been coerced by his dying father tobind himself to the Church through a mistaken sense of duty, but wholoves Ilaria, one of the famous beauties of the Court at Avellino. Theexcitement, splendor and stir of those days of activity in Rome aretold with a vividness and daring, which give a singular fascination tothe story.
_The Press has commented as follows on the author's previous books_:
"The author displays many of the talents that made Scott famous."--_The Index._
"The book is breathless reading, as much for the adventures, the pageants, the midnight excursions of the minor characters, as for the love story of the prince and Donna Lucrezia."--_Boston Transcript._
"Mr. Gallizier daringly and vividly paints in glowing word and phrases, in sparkling dialogue and colorful narrative, the splendor, glamor and stir in those days of excitement, intrigue, tragedy, suspicion and intellectual activity in Rome."--_Philadelphia Press._
"A splendid bit of old Roman mosaic, or a gorgeous piece of tapestry. Otto is a striking and pathetic figure. Description of the city, the gorgeous ceremonials of the court and the revels are a series of wonderful pictures."--_Cincinnati Enquirer._
"The martial spirit of these stirring times, weird beliefs in magic and religion are most admirably presented by the author, who knows his subject thoroughly. It belongs to the class of Bulwer-Lytton's romances; carefully studied, well wrought, and full of exciting incident."--_Cleveland Enquirer._
"Romance at its best."--_Boston Herald._
* * * * *
THE WHAT-SHALL-I-DO GIRL
Or, The Career of Joy Kent
_By Isabel Woodman Waitt_
_12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated by Jessie Gillespie. Net $1.25;postpaid $1.40_
When Joy Kent finds herself alone in the world, thrown on her ownresources, after the death of her father, she looks about her, as doso many young girls, fresh from the public schools, wondering how shecan support herself and earn a place in the great business world abouther. Still wondering, she sends a letter to a number of girls she hadknown in school days, asking that each one tell her just how she hadequipped herself for a salary-earning career, and once equipped, howshe had found it possible to start on that career. In reply comeletters from the milliner, the stenographer, the librarian, thesalesgirl, the newspaper woman, the teacher, the nurse, and from girlswho had adopted all sorts of vocations as a means of livelihood. Realfriendly girl letters they are, too, not of the type that preach, butof the kind which give sound and helpful advice in a bright andinteresting manner. Of course there is a splendid young man who alsogives advice. Any "What-shall-I-do" young girl can read of the careerssuggested for Joy Kent with profit and pleasure, and, perhaps, withsurprise!
* * * * *
THE HARBOR MASTER
_By Theodore Goodridge Roberts_
Author of "Comrades of the Trails," "Rayton: A Backwoods Mystery,"etc.
_12mo, cloth decorative, with a frontispiece in full color by JohnGoss. Net $1.25; postpaid $1.40_
The scene of the story is Newfoundland. The story deals with the loveof Black Dennis Nolan, a young giant and self-appointed skipper of thelittle fishing hamlet of Chance Along, for Flora Lockhart, a beautifulprofessional singer, who is rescued by Dennis from a wreck on thetreacherous coast of Newfoundland, when on her way from England to theUnited States. The story is a strong one all through, with a mysterythat grips, plenty of excitement and action, and the author presentslife in the open in all its strength and vigor. Mr. Roberts is one ofthe younger writers whom the critics have been watching with interest.In "The Harbor Master" he has surely arrived.
_Of Mr. Roberts' previous books the critics have written as follows_:
"The action is always swift and romantic and the love is of the kind that thrills the reader. The characters are admirably drawn and the reader follows with deep interest the adventures of the two young people."--_Baltimore Sun._
"Mr. Roberts' pen
has lost none of its cunning, while his style is easier and breezier than ever."--_Buffalo Express._
"It is a romance of clean, warm-hearted devotion to friends and duty. The characters are admirable each in his own or her own way, and the author has made each fit the case in excellent fashion."--_Salt Lake City Tribune._
"In this book Mr. Roberts has well maintained his reputation for the vivid coloring of his descriptive pictures, which are full of stirring action, and in which love and fighting hold chief place."--_Boston Times._
"Its ease of style, its rapidity, its interest from page to page, are admirable; and it shows that inimitable power--the story-teller's gift of verisimilitude. Its sureness and clearness are excellent, and its portraiture clear and pleasing."--_The Reader._
* * * * *
AT THE SIGN OF THE TOWN PUMP
The Further Adventures of Peggy of Spinster Farm
_By Helen M. Winslow_
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Miss Winslow calls us again away from the strenuous and noisyconfusion of modern cities to the charm and contentment of life "underthe greenwood tree." Peggy's adventures had only just begun in thefirst book. In this new record of life at Spinster Farm and "Elysium,""At the Sign of the Town Pump," there is plenty of romantic adventureof the kind that proves truth to be stranger sometimes than fiction.There is humor, too, in even greater quantities than in the precedingbook, sparkling humor that places the author well up in the list ofour New England humorists. "At the Sign of the Town Pump" will bewelcomed not only by those who enjoyed making the acquaintance ofSpinster Farm, but by thousands of new readers who appreciate a cleverstory and a fascinating heroine.
_On "Peggy at Spinster Farm" the Press opinions are as follows_:
"Very alluring are the pictures she draws of the old-fashioned house, the splendid old trees, the pleasant walks, the gorgeous sunsets, and--or it would not be Helen Winslow--the cats."--_The Boston Transcript._
"'Peggy at Spinster Farm' is a rewarding volume, original and personal in its point of view, redolent of unfeigned love for the country and the sane, satisfying pleasures of country life."--_Milwaukee Free Press._
"It is an alluring, wholesome tale."--_Schenectady Star._
"Is a story remarkably interesting, and no book will be found more entertaining than this one, especially for those who enjoy light-hearted character sketches, and startling and unexpected happenings."--_Northampton Gazette._
"An exceptionally well-written book."--_Milwaukee Evening Wisconsin._
"The Spinster and Peggy have a quiet sense of humor of their own and they convey their experiences with a quaint enjoyment that holds us irresistibly."--_The Argonaut._
"This is a thoroughly enjoyable story. Mary Wilkins at her best was never more interesting, and she has never produced a book more normal and as wholesome as this."--_Journal of Education._
* * * * *
Selections from L. C. Page and Company's List of Fiction
WORKS OF ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS
_Each one vol., library 12mo, cloth decorative_ $1.50
THE FLIGHT OF GEORGIANA
A ROMANCE OF THE DAYS OF THE YOUNG PRETENDER. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.
"A love-story in the highest degree, a dashing story, and a remarkably well finished piece of work."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
THE BRIGHT FACE OF DANGER
Being an account of some adventures of Henri de Launay, son of the Sieur de la Tournoire. Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.
"Mr. Stephens has fairly outdone himself. We thank him heartily. The story is nothing if not spirited and entertaining, rational and convincing."--_Boston Transcript._
THE MYSTERY OF MURRAY DAVENPORT
(40th thousand.)
"This is easily the best thing that Mr. Stephens has yet done. Those familiar with his other novels can best judge the measure of this praise, which is generous."--_Buffalo News._
CAPTAIN RAVENSHAW
OR, THE MAID OF CHEAPSIDE. (52d thousand.) A romance of Elizabethan London. Illustrations by Howard Pyle and other artists.
Not since the absorbing adventures of D'Artagnan have we had anything so good in the blended vein of romance and comedy.
THE CONTINENTAL DRAGOON
A ROMANCE OF PHILIPSE MANOR HOUSE IN 1778. (53d thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.
A stirring romance of the Revolution, with its scenes laid on neutral territory.
PHILIP WINWOOD
(70th thousand.) A Sketch of the Domestic History of an American Captain in the War of Independence, embracing events that occurred between and during the years 1763 and 1785 in New York and London. Illustrated by E. W. D. Hamilton.
AN ENEMY TO THE KING
(70th thousand.) Illustrated by H. De M. Young.
An historical romance of the sixteenth century, describing the adventures of a young French nobleman at the court of Henry III., and on the field with Henry IV.
THE ROAD TO PARIS
A STORY OF ADVENTURE. (35th thousand.) Illustrated by H. C. Edwards.
An historical romance of the eighteenth century, being an account of the life of an American gentleman adventurer.
A GENTLEMAN PLAYER
HIS ADVENTURES ON A SECRET MISSION FOR QUEEN ELIZABETH. (48th thousand.) Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill.
The story of a young gentleman who joins Shakespeare's company of players, and becomes a protege of the great poet.
CLEMENTINA'S HIGHWAYMAN
Illustrated by A. Everhart.
The story is laid in the mid-Georgian period. It is a dashing, sparkling, vivacious comedy.
TALES FROM BOHEMIA
Illustrated by Wallace Goldsmith.
These bright and clever tales deal with people of the theatre and odd characters in other walks of life which fringe on Bohemia.
A SOLDIER OF VALLEY FORGE
By ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS AND THEODORE GOODRIDGE ROBERTS.
With frontispiece by Frank T. Merrill.
"The plot shows invention and is developed with originality, and there is incident in abundance."--_Brooklyn Times._
THE SWORD OF BUSSY
By ROBERT NEILSON STEPHENS AND HERMAN NICKERSON.
With frontispiece by Edmund H. Garrett.
_Net, $1.25; postpaid, $1.40_
"The plot is lively, dashing and fascinating, the very kind of a story that one does not want to stop reading until it is finished."--_Boston Herald._
Transcriber's Note:
Archaic and inconsistent spelling and punctuation retained.