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Chapter 1. Joan Haste
Chapter 2. Samuel Rock Declares Himself
Chapter 3. The Beginnings of Fate
Chapter 4. The Home-Coming of Henry Graves
Chapter 5. The Levingers Visit Rosham
Chapter 6. Mr. Levinger Puts a Case
Chapter 7. A Proposal and a Difference
Chapter 8. Two Conversations
Chapter 9. Mutual Admiration
Chapter 10. Azrael’s Wing
Chapter 11. Ellen Grows Alarmed
Chapter 12. Ellen Finds a Remedy
Chapter 13. A Meeting by the Mere
Chapter 14. Sowing the Wind
Chapter 15. The First Fruits
Chapter 16. Fortiter in Re
Chapter 17. Between Duty and Duty
Chapter 18. Congratulations
Chapter 19. Righteous Indignation
Chapter 20 “Let It Remain Open!”
Chapter 21. A Luncheon Party
Chapter 22. An Interlude
Chapter 23. A New Departure
Chapter 24. Messrs. Black and Parker
Chapter 25 “I Forbid You!”
Chapter 26. A Love Letter
Chapter 27. Luck at Last
Chapter 28. The Price of Innocent Blood
Chapter 29. Through the Valley of the Shadow
Chapter 30. Reaping the Whirlwind
Chapter 31. The Gate of Paradise
Chapter 32. The Closing of the Gate
Chapter 33. The Gate of Hell
Chapter 34. The Opening of the Gate
Chapter 35. Disenchantment
Chapter 36. The Desire of Death – and the Fear of Him
Chapter 37. The Truth, the Whole Truth
Chapter 38. A Ghost of the Past
Chapter 39. Husband and Wife
Chapter 40. Full Measure, Pressed Down and Running Over
Mr. Samuel Rock was young-looking rather than young in years, of which he might have seen some thirty-five, and, on the whole, not uncomely in appearance. His build was slender for his height, his eyes were blue and somewhat shifty, his features sharp and regular except the chin, which was prominent, massive, and developed almost to deformity. Perhaps it was to hide this blemish that he wore a brown beard, very long, but thin and straggling. His greatest peculiarity, however, was his hands, which were shaped like those of a woman, were long, white notwithstanding their exposure to the weather, and adorned with almond-shaped nails that any lady might have envied. These hands were never still; moreover, there was something furtive and unpleasant about them, capable as they were of the strangest contortions. Mr. Rock’s garments suggested a compromise between the dress affected by Dissenters who are pillars of their local chapel and anxious to proclaim the fact, and those worn by the ordinary farmer, consisting as they did of a long-tailed black coat rather the worse for wear, a black felt wide-awake, and a pair of cord breeches and stout riding boots.
“How do you do, Miss Haste?” said Samuel Rock, in his soft, melodious voice, but not offering to shake hands, perhaps because his fingers were engaged in nervously crushing the crown of his hat.
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“I understand, Joan.”
“Very well, then: good-bye.” And she held out her hand.
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