In the Roar of the Sea
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Baring-Gould Sabine. In the Roar of the Sea
CHAPTER I. OVER AND DONE
CHAPTER II. A PASSAGE OF ARMS
CHAPTER III. CAPTAIN CRUEL
CHAPTER IV. HOP-O’-MY-THUMB
CHAPTER V. THE BUTTONS
CHAPTER VI. UNCLE ZACHIE
CHAPTER VII. A VISIT
CHAPTER VIII. A PATCHED PEACE
CHAPTER IX. C. C
CHAPTER X. EGO ET REGINA MEA
CHAPTER XI. JESSAMINE
CHAPTER XII. THE CAVE
CHAPTER XIII. IN THE DUSK
CHAPTER XIV. WARNING OF DANGER
CHAPTER XV. CHAINED
CHAPTER XVI. ON THE SHINGLE
CHAPTER XVII. FOR LIFE OR DEATH
CHAPTER XVIII. UNA
CHAPTER XIX. A GOLDFISH
CHAPTER XX. BOUGHT AND SOLD
CHAPTER XXI. OTHELLO COTTAGE
CHAPTER XXII. JAMIE’S RIDE
CHAPTER XXIII. ALL IS FOR THE BEST IN THE BEST OF WORLDS
CHAPTER XXIV. A NIGHT EXCURSION
CHAPTER XXV. FOUND
CHAPTER XXVI. AN UNWILLING PRISONER
CHAPTER XXVII. A RESCUE
CHAPTER XXVIII. AN EXAMINATION
CHAPTER XXIX. ON A PEACOCK’S FEATHER
CHAPTER XXX. THROUGH THE TAMARISKS
CHAPTER XXXI. AMONG THE SAND-HEAPS
CHAPTER XXXII. A DANGEROUS GIFT
CHAPTER XXXIII. HALF A MARRIAGE
CHAPTER XXXIV. A BREAKFAST
CHAPTER XXXV. JACK O’ LANTERN
CHAPTER XXXVI. THE SEA-WOLVES
CHAPTER XXXVII. BRUISED NOT BROKEN
CHAPTER XXXVIII. A CHANGE OF WIND
CHAPTER XXXIX. A FIRST LIE
CHAPTER XL. THE DIAMOND BUTTERFLY
CHAPTER XLI. A DEAD-LOCK
CHAPTER XLII. TWO LETTERS
CHAPTER XLIII. THE SECOND TIME
CHAPTER XLIV. THE WHIP FALLS
CHAPTER XLV. GONE FROM ITS PLACE
CHAPTER XLVI. A SECOND LIE
CHAPTER XLVII. FAST IN HIS HANDS
CHAPTER XLVIII. TWO ALTERNATIVES
CHAPTER XLIX. NOTHING LIKE GROG
CHAPTER L. PLAYING FORFEITS
CHAPTER LI. SURRENDER
CHAPTER LII. TO JUDITH
CHAPTER LIII. IN THE SMOKE
CHAPTER LIV. SQUAB PIE
Отрывок из книги
The stillness preceding the storm had yielded. A gale had broken over the coast, raged against the cliffs of Pentyre, and battered the walls of the parsonage, without disturbing the old rector, whom no storm would trouble again, soon to be laid under the sands of his buried church-yard, his very mound to be heaped over in a few years, and obliterated by waves of additional encroaching sand. Judith had not slept all night. She – she, a mere child, had to consider and arrange everything consequent on the death of the master of the house. The servants – cook and house-maid – had been of little, if any, assistance to her. When Jane, the house-maid, had rushed into the kitchen with the tidings that the old parson was dead, cook, in her agitation, upset the kettle and scalded her foot. The gardener’s wife had come in on hearing the news, and had volunteered help. Judith had given her the closet-key to fetch from the stores something needed; and Jamie, finding access to the closet, had taken possession of a pot of raspberry jam, carried it to bed with him, and spilled it over the sheets, besides making himself ill. The house-maid, Jane, had forgotten in her distraction to shut the best bedroom casement, and the gale during the night had wrenched it from its hinges, flung it into the garden on the roof of the small conservatory, and smashed both. Moreover, the casement being open, the rain had driven into the room unchecked, had swamped the floor, run through and stained the drawing-room ceiling underneath, the drips had fallen on the mahogany table and blistered the veneer. A messenger was sent to Pentyre Glaze for Miss Dionysia Trevisa, and she would probably arrive in an hour or two.
Mr. Trevisa, as he had told Judith, was solitary, singularly so. He was of a good Cornish family, but it was one that had dwindled till it had ceased to have other representative than himself. Once well estated, at Crockadon, in S. Mellion, all the lands of the family had been lost; once with merchants in the family, all the fortunes of these merchants industriously gathered had been dissipated, and nothing had remained to the Reverend Peter Trevisa but his family name and family coat, a garb or, on a field gules. It really seemed as though the tinctures of the shield had been fixed in the crown of splendor that covered the head of Judith. But she did not derive this wealth of red-gold hair from her Cornish ancestors, but from a Scottish mother, a poor governess whom Mr. Peter Trevisa had married, thereby exciting the wrath of his only sister and relative, Miss Dionysia, who had hitherto kept house for him, and vexed his soul with her high-handed proceedings. It was owing to some insolent words used by her to Mrs. Trevisa that Peter had quarrelled with his sister at first. Then when his wife died, she had forced herself on him as housekeeper, but again her presence in the house had become irksome to him, and when she treated his children – his delicate and dearly loved Judith – with roughness, and his timid, silly Jamie with harshness, amounting in his view to cruelty – harsh words had passed between them; sharp is, however, hardly the expression to use for the carefully worded remonstrances of the mild rector, though appropriate enough to her rejoinders. Then she had taken herself off and had become housekeeper to Curll Coppinger, Cruel Coppinger, as he was usually called, who occupied Pentyre Glaze, and was a fairly well-to-do single man.
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“Hark!” she exclaimed. “There is Aunt Dunes. I hear her voice – how loud she speaks! She has come to fetch us away.”
“Where is she going to take us to?”
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