Fiction Books

HIS BIRTH On an evening in 1866 (exactly eight hundred years after the Battle of Hastings) Mr. Henry Knight, a draper's manager, aged forty, dark, clean-shaven, short, but not stout, sat in his sitting-room on the second-floor over the shop which he managed in Oxford Street, London. He was proud of that sitting-room, which represented the achievement of an ideal, and he had a right to be proud of... more...

CHAPTER ONEBEGINNING THE SEARCHIt was in the year of 1885 that the railroad was put through the particular corner of Missouri that marks the scene where the events of this narrative took place. With the coming of the railroad, there came an influx of new settlers, who were of various nationalities and conditions in life. There were Swedes from Malmo, Germans from Dresden, and Irishmen from Tyrone, all... more...

Once upon a time—but whether in the time past or time to come is a matter of little or no moment—this wide world had become so overburdened with an accumulation of worn-out trumpery, that the inhabitants determined to rid themselves of it by a general bonfire. The site fixed upon at the representation of the insurance companies, and as being as central a spot as any other on the globe, was... more...

CHAPTER I THE MAN BY THE ROADSIDE A solemn twilight, heavy and oppressive, was closing a dull, slumberous day. It was late in the year for such weather. Not a breath stirred in the trees by the roadside, not a movement in hedge or ditch; some plague might have swept across the land, leaving it stricken and desolate, even the cottages here and there showed no lights and appeared to be deserted. The road... more...

CHAPTER I FRANCE OF THE BOURBONS France, when she undertook the creation of a Bourbon empire beyond the seas, was the first nation of Europe. Her population was larger than that of Spain, and three times that of England. Her army in the days of Louis Quatorze, numbering nearly a half-million in all ranks, was larger than that of Rome at the height of the imperial power. No nation since the fall of... more...

Prologue. Sir George Farquhar, Baronet, builder of railway-stations, and institutes, and churches, author, antiquarian, and senior partner of Farquhar and Farquhar, leant back in his office chair and turned it sideways to give more point to his remarks. Before him stood an understudy, whom he was sending to superintend the restoration work at Cullerne Minster. “Well, good-bye, Westray; keep your eyes... more...

CHAPTER I A DESPATCH FOR LONGSTREET It was a bare, plain interior,—the low table at which he sat an unplaned board, his seat a box, made softer by a folded blanket. His only companions were two aides, standing silent beside the closed entrance, anxious to anticipate his slightest need. He will abide in my memory forever as I saw him then,—although we were destined to meet often afterwards,—that... more...

CHAPTER I. It was past midnight, and both men were smoking leisurely by the study fireside. Morgan Druce sat just on the edge of a low chair, his long, slim body bent forward, his clean-shaven boyish face well within the glow of the fire. Though he appeared to be looking at it, he was only conscious of its warmth. Robert Ingram, middle-aged and bearded, lolled back in sensuous comfort. "The long... more...

CHAPTER I. A WATCHER OF LILIES. "Unto whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid."—Collect, English Communion Service. In one of the south-western counties of England, some years ago, and in a deep, well-wooded valley where men made perry and cider, wandered little and read less, there was a hamlet with neither farm nor cottage in it, that had not stood two... more...

CHAPTER I Judging from my own experience it is my opinion that many strange and wonderful events have happened during the past in which man took part, that have never been recorded. Many reasons could be given for this, but the main causes perhaps, are that the participants have lacked the intelligence, education or literary ability to properly describe them. In these respects I must admit my own... more...