Fiction Books

Chapter One. The Story of the Buried Treasure. Those of my readers who happen to be well acquainted with Weymouth, will also be assuredly acquainted with a certain lane, known as Buxton’s Lane, branching off to the right from the high-road at Rodwell, and connecting that suburb with the picturesque little village of Wyke. I make this assertion with the most perfect confidence, because Buxton’s Lane... more...

Chapter One. A few miles from the town of Southampton there is an old mansion-house, which has been for centuries known as Madeline Hall, in the possession of the de Versely family. It is a handsome building, surrounded by a finely timbered park of some extent, and, what is more important, by about 12,000 acres of land, which also appertain to it. At the period in which I commence this history, there... more...

Chapter I. THE TWO GENTLEMEN OF POMPEII. 'HO, Diomed, well met! Do you sup with Glaucus to-night?' said a young man of small stature, who wore his tunic in those loose and effeminate folds which proved him to be a gentleman and a coxcomb. 'Alas, no! dear Clodius; he has not invited me,' replied Diomed, a man of portly frame and of middle age. 'By Pollux, a scurvy trick! for... more...

THE BLACK WOMAN. The horseman reined in as his jaded steed scrambled up the shelving bank, and for a space sat there motionless, for which the horse gave mute thanks. The moon was struggling to heave through fleecy clouds, as it was hard on midnight; in the half obscurity the rider gazed around suspiciously. There was nothing in sight to cause any man fear. Behind him rippled the Dee, and all around... more...

FOREWORD Pirates, Buccaneers, Marooners, those cruel but picturesque sea wolves who once infested the Spanish Main, all live in present-day conceptions in great degree as drawn by the pen and pencil of Howard Pyle. Pyle, artist-author, living in the latter half of the nineteenth century and the first decade of the twentieth, had the fine faculty of transposing himself into any chosen period of history... more...

I.  WHAT WAS SEEN FROM THE WINDOW OVERLOOKING THE DOWN In the days of high-waisted and muslin-gowned women, when the vast amount of soldiering going on in the country was a cause of much trembling to the sex, there lived in a village near the Wessex coast two ladies of good report, though unfortunately of limited means.  The elder was a Mrs. Martha Garland, a landscape-painter’s widow, and the... more...

INTRODUCTION The TRS-80 Expansion Interface (see ) consists of the Case, a DC Power Supply, a Ribbon Cable, a Cassette Recorder Jumper Cable and an additional Cassette Recorder Cable for Cassette Recorder number 2. Notice that the DC Power Supply is not installed in the Case upon receipt. It must be installed using the procedures under the heading "SETTING UP" and as illustrated in .The Case... more...

CHAPTER I THE YOUNG MAN NEXT DOOR My story begins with an incident that is bound to happen some time in any household that boasts—or perhaps deplores—a high-spirited girl of twenty-three in it. It begins with "a row" about a young man. My story begins, too, where the first woman's story began—in a garden. It was the back garden of our red-roofed villa in that suburban street,... more...

PART I—SPRINGIHe walked along Holywell that afternoon of early June with his short gown drooping down his arms, and no cap on his thick dark hair. A youth of middle height, and built as if he had come of two very different strains, one sturdy, the other wiry and light. His face, too, was a curious blend, for, though it was strongly formed, its expression was rather soft and moody. His eyes—dark... more...

CHAPTER I The weather door of the smoking-room had been left open to the North Atlantic fog, as the big liner rolled and lifted, whistling to warn the fishing-fleet. "That Cheyne boy's the biggest nuisance aboard," said a man in a frieze overcoat, shutting the door with a bang. "He isn't wanted here. He's too fresh." A white-haired German reached for a sandwich, and... more...