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Basil King
Basil King was a Canadian-born clergyman and writer who gained fame for his novels and spiritual writings in the early 20th century. Born in 1859 in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, he initially pursued a career in the church before turning to literature. King's works often explored themes of faith, morality, and the human spirit, with his most notable novel being "The Inner Shrine" (1909), which became a bestseller. Despite facing health challenges that led to partial blindness, King continued to write prolifically until his death in 1928.
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Basil King
THE INNER SHRINE I Though she had counted the strokes of every hour since midnight, Mrs. Eveleth had no thought of going to bed. When she was not sitting bolt upright, indifferent to comfort, in one of the stiff-backed, gilded chairs, she was limping, with the aid of her cane, up and down the long suite of salons, listening for the sound of wheels. She knew that George and Diane would be surprised to...
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Basil King
THE STREET CALLED STRAIGHT s a matter of fact, Davenant was under no illusions concerning the quality of the welcome his hostess was according him, though he found a certain pleasure in being once more in her company. It was not a keen pleasure, but neither was it an embarrassing one; it was exactly what he supposed it would be in case they ever met again—a blending on his part of curiosity,...
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Basil King
Chapter I It is not often that you see a man tear his hair, but this is exactly what Rashleigh Allerton did. He tore it, first, because of being under the stress of great agitation, and second, because he had it to tear—a thick, black shock with a tendency to part in the middle, but brushed carefully to one side. Seated on the extreme edge of one of Miss Walbrook’s strong, slender armchairs, his...
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Basil King
I Finding himself in the level wood-road, whose open aisle drew a long, straight streak across the sky, still luminous with the late-lingering Adirondack twilight, the tall young fugitive, hatless, coatless, and barefooted, paused a minute for reflection. As he paused, he listened; but all distinctiveness of sound was lost in the play of the wind, up hill and down dale, through chasm and over crag, in...
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Basil King
TRANSGRESSION It was strange to think that if, on finishing her coffee in her room, she had looked in on the children, as she generally did, instead of going down to the drawing-room to write a note, her whole life might have been different. "Why didn't I?" was the question she often asked herself in the succeeding years, only to follow it with the reflection: "But perhaps it would...
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