John Marchmont's Legacy. Volumes 1-3
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Braddon Mary Elizabeth. John Marchmont's Legacy. Volumes 1-3
VOLUME I
CHAPTER I. THE MAN WITH THE BANNER
CHAPTER II. LITTLE MARY
CHAPTER III. ABOUT THE LINCOLNSHIRE PROPERTY
CHAPTER IV. GOING AWAY
CHAPTER V. MARCHMONT TOWERS
CHAPTER VI. THE YOUNG SOLDIER'S RETURN
CHAPTER VII. OLIVIA
CHAPTER VIII. "MY LIFE IS COLD, AND DARK, AND DREARY."
CHAPTER IX. "WHEN SHALL I CEASE TO BE ALL ALONE?"
CHAPTER X. MARY'S STEPMOTHER
CHAPTER XI. THE DAY OF DESOLATION
CHAPTER XII. PAUL
CHAPTER XIII. OLIVIA'S DESPAIR
CHAPTER XIV. DRIVEN AWAY
VOLUME II
CHAPTER I. MARY'S LETTER
CHAPTER II. A NEW PROTECTOR
CHAPTER III. PAUL'S SISTER
CHAPTER IV. A STOLEN HONEYMOON
CHAPTER V. SOUNDING THE DEPTHS
CHAPTER VI. RISEN FROM THE GRAVE
CHAPTER VII. FACE TO FACE
CHAPTER VIII. THE PAINTING–ROOM BY THE RIVER
CHAPTER IX. IN THE DARK
CHAPTER X. THE PARAGRAPH IN THE NEWSPAPER
CHAPTER XI. EDWARD ARUNDEL'S DESPAIR
CHAPTER XII. EDWARD'S VISITORS
CHAPTER XIII. ONE MORE SACRIFICE
CHAPTER XIV. THE CHILD'S VOICE IN THE PAVILION BY THE WATER
VOLUME III
CHAPTER I. CAPTAIN ARUNDEL'S REVENGE
CHAPTER II. THE DESERTED CHAMBERS
CHAPTER III. TAKING IT QUIETLY
CHAPTER IV. MISS LAWFORD SPEAKS HER MIND
CHAPTER V. THE RETURN OF THE WANDERER
CHAPTER VI. A WIDOWER'S PROPOSAL
CHAPTER VII. HOW THE TIDINGS WERE RECEIVED IN LINCOLNSHIRE
CHAPTER VIII. MR. WESTON REFUSES TO BE TRAMPLED UPON
CHAPTER IX. "GOING TO BE MARRIED!"
CHAPTER X. THE TURNING OF THE TIDE
CHAPTER XI. BELINDA'S WEDDING–DAY
CHAPTER XII. MARY'S STORY
CHAPTER XIII. "ALL WITHIN IS DARK AS NIGHT."
CHAPTER XIV. THERE IS CONFUSION WORSE THAN DEATH
CHAPTER THE LAST. "DEAR IS THE MEMORY OF OUR WEDDED LIVES."
THE EPILOGUE
Отрывок из книги
The history of Edward Arundel, second son of Christopher Arundel Dangerfield Arundel, of Dangerfield Park, Devonshire, began on a certain dark winter's night upon which the lad, still a schoolboy, went with his cousin, Martin Mostyn, to witness a blank–verse tragedy at one of the London theatres.
There are few men who, looking back at the long story of their lives, cannot point to one page in the record of the past at which the actual history of life began. The page may come in the very middle of the book, perhaps; perhaps almost at the end. But let it come where it will, it is, after all, only the actual commencement. At an appointed hour in man's existence, the overture which has been going on ever since he was born is brought to a sudden close by the sharp vibration of the prompter's signal–bell; the curtain rises, and the drama of life begins. Very insignificant sometimes are the first scenes of the play,–common–place, trite, wearisome; but watch them closely, and interwoven with every word, dimly recognisable in every action, may be seen the awful hand of Destiny. The story has begun: already we, the spectators, can make vague guesses at the plot, and predicate the solemn climax; it is only the actors who are ignorant of the meaning of their several parts, and who are stupidly reckless of the obvious catastrophe.
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But young Arundel had just succeeded in opening the door, and he left the box without waiting to answer his cousin's question. He made his way very rapidly out of the theatre, and fought manfully through the crowds who were waiting about the pit and gallery doors, until he found himself at the stage–entrance. He had often looked with reverent wonder at the dark portal; but he had never before essayed to cross the sacred threshold. But the guardian of the gate to this theatrical paradise, inhabited by fairies at a guinea a week, and baronial retainers at a shilling a night, is ordinarily a very inflexible individual, not to be corrupted by any mortal persuasion, and scarcely corruptible by the more potent influence of gold or silver. Poor Edward's half–a–crown had no effect whatever upon the stern door–keeper, who thanked him for his donation, but told him that it was against his orders to let anybody go up–stairs.
"But I want to see some one so particularly," the boy said eagerly. "Don't you think you could manage it for me, you know? He's an old friend of mine,–one of the supernu–what's–its–names?" added Edward, stumbling over the word. "He carried a banner in the tragedy, you know; and he's got such an awful cough, poor chap."
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