The Sword Of Damocles: A Story Of New York Life - free ebook by Anna Katharine Green

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The Sword Of Damocles: A Story Of New York Life

Anna Katharine Green

55 chapters

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55 chapters

A WANDERER.

A WANDERER.

"There's no such word."— BULWER. A wind was blowing through the city. Not a gentle and balmy zephyr, stirring the locks on gentle ladies' foreheads and rustling the curtains in elegant boudoirs, but a chill and bitter gale that rushed with a swoop through narrow alleys and forsaken courtyards, biting the cheeks of the few solitary wanderers that still lingered abroad in the darkened streets. In front of a cathedral that reared its lofty steeple in the midst of the squalid houses and worse than s

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A DISCUSSION.

A DISCUSSION.

"Young men think old men fools, and old men know young men to be so."— Ray's Proverbs. "And you are actually in earnest?" "I am." The first speaker, a fine-looking gentleman of some forty years of age, drummed with his fingers on the table before him and eyed the face of the young man who had repeated this assent so emphatically, with a certain close scrutiny indicative of surprise. "It is an unlooked-for move for you to make," he remarked at length. "Your success as a pianist has been so decide

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A MYSTERIOUS SUMMONS.

A MYSTERIOUS SUMMONS.

It was after a matinée performance at —— Hall some two weeks ago that I stopped to light a cigar in the small corridor leading to the back entrance. I was in a dissatisfied frame of mind. Something in the music I had been playing or the manner in which it had been received had touched unwonted chords in my own nature. I felt alone. I remember asking myself as I stood there, what it all amounted to? Who of all the applauding crowd would watch at my bedside through a long and harassing sickness, o

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SEARCHINGS.

SEARCHINGS.

"Patience, and shuffle the cards."— Cervantes. If I had expected anything from the presence in the carriage of the woman who had arranged this interview, I was doomed to disappointment. Reticent before, she was absolutely silent now, sitting at my side like a grim statue or a frozen image of watchfulness, ready to awake and stop me if I offered to open the door or make any other move indicative of a determination to know where I was, or in what direction I was going. That her young mistress in t

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THE RUBICON.

THE RUBICON.

"I'll stake my life upon her faith."— Othello. Once convinced of the identity of my sweet young friend with the Miss Preston at whose feet a two year hence, the wealth and aristocracy of New York would be kneeling, I drew back from further effort as having received a damper to my presumptuous hopes that would soon effectually stifle them. Everything I heard about the family—and it seemed as if suddenly each chance acquaintance that I met had something to say about Mr. Preston either as a banker

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A HAND CLASP.

A HAND CLASP.

Once arrived at a settled conclusion, I put every thought of wavering out of my mind. Deciding that with such a friend in business circles as yourself, I needed no other introducer to my new life, I set apart this evening for a confab with you on the subject. Meanwhile it is pretty generally known that I make no more engagements to appear through the country. I have but one more incident to relate. Last Sunday in walking down Fifth Avenue I met her. I did not do this inadvertently. I knew her cu

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MRS. SYLVESTER.

MRS. SYLVESTER.

Love is more pleasant than marriage, for the same reason that romances are more amusing than history.— Chamfort. "He draweth out the thread of his verbosity, finer than the staple of his argument."— Loves Labor Lost. Young Mandeville having finished his story, looked at his uncle. He found him sitting in an attitude of extreme absorption, his right arm stretched before him on the table, his face bent thoughtfully downwards and clouded with that deep melancholy that seemed its most natural expres

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SHADOWS OF THE PAST.

SHADOWS OF THE PAST.

"Memory, the warder of the brain."— Macbeth. It was long past midnight. The fire in the grate burned dimly, shedding its lingering glow on the face of the master of the house as with bowed head and folded hands he sat alone and brooding before its dying embers. It was a lonesome sight. The very magnificence of the spacious apartment with its lofty walls and glittering works of art, seemed to give an air of remoteness to that solitary form, bending beneath the weight of its reflections. From the

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PAULA.

PAULA.

A wintry scene. Snow-piled hills stretching beyond a frozen river. On the bank a solitary figure tall, dark and commanding, standing with eyes bent sadly on a long narrow mound at his feet. It is Edward Sylvester and the mound is the grave of his mother. It is ten years since he stood upon that spot. In all that time no memories of his childhood's home, no recollection of that lonely grave among the pines, had been sufficient to allure him from the city and its busy round of daily cares. Indeed

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THE BARRED DOOR.

THE BARRED DOOR.

"A school boy's tale; the wonder of an hour."— Byron. "Did you know that your niece was gifted with rare beauty as well as talents?" asked Mr. Sylvester of Miss Belinda as a couple of hours or so later, they sat alone by the parlor fire, preparatory to his departure. "No, that is," she hastily corrected herself, "I knew she was very pretty of course, prettier by far than any of her mates, but I did not suppose she was what you call a beauty, or at least would be so considered by a person accusto

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MISS STUYVESANT.

MISS STUYVESANT.

"She is a beauty; it is only right I should forewarn you of that." "Dark or light?" "Dark; that is her hair and eyes are almost oriental in their blackness, but her skin is fair, almost as dazzling as yours, Ona." Mrs. Sylvester threw a careless glance in the long mirror before which she was slowly completing her toilet, and languidly smiled. But whether at this covert compliment to her greatest charm or at some passing fancy of her own, it would be difficult to decide. "The dark hair and eyes c

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MISS BELINDA MAKES CONDITIONS.

MISS BELINDA MAKES CONDITIONS.

Miss Belinda was somewhat taken aback at the proposal of Mr. Sylvester to receive Paula into his own house. She had not anticipated any such result to her efforts; the utmost she had expected was a couple of years or so of instruction in some state Academy. Nor did she know whether she was altogether pleased at the turn affairs were taking. From all she had heard, her niece Ona was, to say the least, a frivolous woman, and Paula had a mind too noble to be subjected to the deteriorating influence

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THE END OF MY LADY'S PICTURE.

THE END OF MY LADY'S PICTURE.

"Heaven from all creatures tides the book of Fate."— Pope. Mrs. Sylvester was spending an evening at home. This was something so unusual for this august lady of fashion to indulge in, that she found it difficult not to fall asleep in the huge crimson-backed chair in which she had chosen to ensconce herself. Not that she had desisted from making every effort known to mortal woman to keep herself awake and if possible amused till the expected travellers should arrive. She had played with her bird

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MISS BELINDA HAS A QUESTION TO DECIDE.

MISS BELINDA HAS A QUESTION TO DECIDE.

Miss Belinda sitting before her bedroom fire on a certain windy night in January, presented a picture of the most profound thought. A year had elapsed since, with heavy heart and moistened eye, she had bidden good-bye to the child of her care, and beheld her drift away with her new friend into a strange and untried life. And now a letter had come from that friend, in which with the truest appreciation for the feelings of herself and sister, he requested their final permission to adopt Paula as h

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AN ADVENTURE—OR SOMETHING MORE.

AN ADVENTURE—OR SOMETHING MORE.

Oph. —What means this, my lord? Ham. —Marry, this is the miching mallecho; it means mischief."— Hamlet. A ride in the Central Park is an every-day matter to most people. It signifies an indolent bowling over a smooth road all alive with the glitter of passing equipages, waving ribbons and fluttering plumes, and brightened now and then by the sight of a well known face amid the general rush of old and young, plain and handsome, sad and gay countenances that flash by you in one long and brilliant

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THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.

THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.

Mrs. Sylvester reclining on the palest of blue couches, in the slanting sunlight of an April afternoon, is a study for a painter. Not that such inspiring loveliness breathed from her person, conspicuous as it was for its rich and indolent grace, but because in every attitude of her large and well formed limbs, in every raise of the thick white lids from eyes whose natural brightness was obscured by the mist of aimless fancies, she presented such an embodiment of luxurious ease, one might almost

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GRAVE AND GAY.

GRAVE AND GAY.

"No scandal about Queen Elizabeth I hope."— Sheridan. "Stands Scotland where it did?"— Macbeth. "Who is that talking with Miss Stuyvesant?" asked Mr. Sylvester, approaching his wife during one of the lulls that will fall at times upon vast assemblies. Mrs. Sylvester followed the direction of his glance and immediately responded, "O that is Mr. Ensign, one of the best partis of the season. He evidently knows where to pay his court." "I inquired because he has just requested me to honor him with a

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IN THE NIGHT WATCHES.

IN THE NIGHT WATCHES.

"Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?"— Hen. iv. "What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight?"— Hen. iv. "It has been the most delightful evening I have ever passed," said Mrs. Sylvester, as she threw aside her rich white mantle in her ample boudoir. "Sarah, two loops on that dolman to-morrow; do you hear? I thought my arms would freeze. Such an elegant gentleman as the Count de Frassac is! He absolutely went wild over you, Paula, but not understanding a word of English—O there, if that hor

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A DAY AT THE BANK.

A DAY AT THE BANK.

There are days when the whole world seems to smile upon one without stint or reservation. Bertram Sylvester wending his way to the bank on the morning following the reception, was a cheerful sight to behold. Youth, health, hope spake in every lineament of his face and brightened every glance of his wide-awake eye. His new life was pleasant to him. Bach, Beethoven and Chopin were scarcely regretted now by the ambitious assistant cashier of the Madison Bank, with a friend in each of its directors

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THE DREGS IN THE CUP.

THE DREGS IN THE CUP.

"O eloquent, just and mightie death! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised: thou hast drawn together all the farre stretched greatnesses; all the pride, crueltie and ambition of man and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet ."— Sir Walter Raleigh. Bertram's hurried ring at his uncle's door was answered by Samuel the butler. "What is this I hea

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DEPARTURE.

DEPARTURE.

Samuel had received his orders to admit Mr. Bertram Sylvester to his uncle's room, at whatever hour of the day or night he chose to make his appearance. But evening wore away and finally the night, before his well-known face was seen at the door. Proceeding at once to the apartment occupied by Mr. Sylvester, he anxiously knocked. The door was opened immediately. "Ah, Bertram, I have been expecting you all night." And from the haggard appearance of both men, it was evident that neither of them ha

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THE POEM.

THE POEM.

When Miss Belinda first saw Paula, she did not, like her sister, remark upon the elegance of her appearance, the growth of her beauty, or the evidences of increased refinement in the expression of her countenance and the carriage of her form, but with her usual penetration noted simply, the sadness in her eye and the tremulous motion of her lip. "You had then become fond of your cousin?" queried she with characteristic bluntness. Paula not understanding the motive of this remark, questioned her

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THE JAPHA MANSION.

THE JAPHA MANSION.

Unexplained actions if long continued, lose after awhile their interest if not their mystery. The aged lady who now for many years had been seen at every night-fall to leave her home, traverse the village streets, enter the Japha mansion, remain there an hour and then re-issue with tremulous steps and bowed head, had become so common a sight to the village eye, that even the children forgot to ask what her errand was, or why she held her head so hopefully when she entered, or looked so desponden

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JACQUELINE.

JACQUELINE.

"There are some men that have the appearance of being devoid of family affection, who in reality cherish it in the deepest and most passionate degree. Such a man was Colonel Japha. You have doubtless heard from your cradle what the neighbors thought of this stately, old fashioned gentleman. He was too handsome in his youth, too proudly reticent in his manhood, too self-contained and unrelenting in his age, not to be the talk of any town that numbered him among its inhabitants. But only from myse

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A MAN'S JUSTICE AND A WOMAN'S MERCY.

A MAN'S JUSTICE AND A WOMAN'S MERCY.

"Fair is foul and foul is fair."— Macbeth. "Have you ever seen a man whose instantaneous effect upon you was electrical; in whose expression, carriage, or manner, there was concealed a charm that attracted and interested you, apart from his actual worth and beauty? Such a one was Mr. Roger Holt, the gentleman I now discerned entering the gate with Jacqueline's lover. It was not that he was handsome. He could not for one moment bear any comparison with his brother in substantial attraction, and y

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THE LONE WATCHER.

THE LONE WATCHER.

"Colonel Japha recovered from his shock, but was never the same man again. All that was genial, affectionate and confiding in his nature, had been turned as by a lightning's stroke, to all that was hard, bitter and suspicious. He would not allow the name of Jacqueline to be spoken in his presence; he would listen to no allusion made to those days when she was the care and perplexity, but also the light and pleasure of the house. Men are not like women, my child; when they turn, it is at an angle

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SUNSHINE ON THE HILLS.

SUNSHINE ON THE HILLS.

The story told by Mrs. Hamlin had a great effect upon Paula, not only on account of its own interest and the promise it had elicited from her, but because of the remembrances it revived of Mr. Sylvester and her life in New York. Any vision of evil or suffering, any experience that roused the affections or awakened the sensibilities, could not fail to recall to her mind the forcible figure of Mr. Sylvester as he stood that day by his own hearthstone, talking of the temptations that assail humanit

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MIST IN THE VALLEY.

MIST IN THE VALLEY.

"The true beginning of our end."— Midsummer Night's Dream. Mr. Ensign was not slow in developing his ideas of friendship. Though he did not venture upon repeating his visit too soon, scarcely a week passed without bringing to Paula a letter or some other testimonial of his increasing devotion. The blindest eye could not fail to remark whither he was tending. Even Paula was forced to acknowledge to herself that she was on the verge of a flowery incline, that sooner or later would bring her up bre

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MISS BELINDA PRESENTS MR. SYLVESTER WITH A CHRISTMAS GIFT.

MISS BELINDA PRESENTS MR. SYLVESTER WITH A CHRISTMAS GIFT.

"For, O; for, O the hobby horse is forgot."— Hamlet. It was a clear winter evening. Mr. Sylvester sat in his library, musing before a bright coal fire, whose superabundant heat and blaze seemed to make the loneliness of the great empty room more apparent. He had just said to himself that it was Christmas eve, and that he, of all men in the world, had the least reason to realize it, when the door-bell rang. He was expecting Bertram, whose advancement to the position of cashier in place of Mr. Whe

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A QUESTION.

A QUESTION.

"Think on thy sins."— Othello. The next morning when Mr. Sylvester came down to breakfast, he found on the library-table an exquisite casket, similar to the one he had given Paula the night before, but larger, and filled with flowers of the most delicious odor. "For Miss Fairchild," explained Samuel, who was at that moment passing through the room. With a pang of jealous surprise, that, however, failed to betray itself in his steadily composed countenance, Mr. Sylvester advanced to the side of t

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FULL TIDE.

FULL TIDE.

"A skirmish of wit between them."— Much Ado About Nothing. Man thinks he is strong, and lays his foundations, raises his walls, and dreams of his completed turrets, without reckoning the force of the gales or the insidious inundating of the waters that may bring low the mounting structure before its time. When with a firm hand, Mr. Sylvester thrust back from his heart the one delight which of all the world could afford, seemed to him at that moment the dearest and the best, he thought the strugg

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TWO LETTERS.

TWO LETTERS.

A woman who has submitted to the undivided attentions of a gentleman for any length of time, feels herself more or less bound to him, whether any special words of devotion have passed between them or not, particularly if from sensitiveness of nature, she has manifested any pleasure in his society. Paula therefore felt as if her wings had been caught in a snare, when Mr. Ensign upon leaving her that evening, put a small note in her hand, saying that he would do himself the pleasure of calling for

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PAULA MAKES HER CHOICE.

PAULA MAKES HER CHOICE.

It was evening in the Sylvester mansion. Mr. Sylvester who, according to his understanding with Paula, had been absent from his home all day, had just come in and now stood in his library waiting for the coming footfall that should decide whether the future held for him any promise of joy. He had never looked more worthy of a woman's regard than he did that night. A matter that had been troubling him for some time had just been satisfactorily disposed of, and not a shadow, so far as he knew, lay

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THE FALLING OF THE SWORD.

THE FALLING OF THE SWORD.

Mr. Sylvester towered on his nephew with an expression such as few men had ever seen even on his powerful and commanding face. "What do you mean?" asked he, and his voice rang like a clarion through the room. Bertram trembled and for a moment stood aghast, the ready flush bathing his brow with burning crimson. "I mean," stammered he, with difficulty recovering himself, "that when Mr. Stuyvesant came to open his private box in the bank to-day, that he not only found its lock had been tampered wit

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MORNING.

MORNING.

Cicely Stuyvesant waiting for her father at the foot of the stairs, on the morning after these occurrences, was a pretty and a touching spectacle. She had not slept very well the night before, and her brow showed signs of trouble and so did her trembling lips. She held in her hand a letter which she twirled about with very unsteady fingers. The morning was bright, but she did not seem to observe it; the air was fresh, but it did not seem to invigorate her. A rose-leaf of care lay on the tremulou

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THE OPINION OF A CERTAIN NOTED DETECTIVE.

THE OPINION OF A CERTAIN NOTED DETECTIVE.

Meanwhile Mr. Stuyvesant hasted on his way down town and ere long made his appearance at the bank. He found Mr. Sylvester and Bertram seated in the directors' room, with a portly smooth-faced man whose appearance was at once strange and vaguely familiar. "A detective, sir," explained Mr. Sylvester rising with forced composure; "a man upon whose judgment I have been told we may rely. Mr. Gryce, Mr. Stuyvesant." The latter gentleman nodded, cast a glance around the room, during which his eye reste

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BLUE-BEARD'S CHAMBER.

BLUE-BEARD'S CHAMBER.

Clarence Ensign was not surprised at the refusal he received from Paula. He had realized from the first that the love of this beautiful woman would be difficult to obtain, even if no rival with more powerful inducements than his own, should chance to cross his path. She was one who could be won to give friendship, consideration, and sympathy without stint; but from the very fact that she could so easily be induced to grant these, he foresaw the improbability, or at least the difficulty of entici

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FROM A. TO Z.

FROM A. TO Z.

"A naked human heart."— Young. "My Beloved Child: "So may I call you in this the final hour of our separation, but never again, dear one, never again. When I said to you, just twenty-four hours ago, that my sin was buried and my future was clear, I spake as men speak who forget the justice of God and dream only of his mercy. An hour's time convinced me that an evil deed once perpetrated by a man, is never buried so that its ghost will not rise. Do as we will, repent as we may, the shadowy phanto

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HALF-PAST SEVEN.

HALF-PAST SEVEN.

"I would it were midnight, Hal, and all well."— Henry IV. The library was dim; Bertram, who had felt the oppressive influence of the great empty room, had turned down the lights, and was now engaged in pacing the floor, with restless and uneven steps, asking himself a hundred questions, and wishing with all the power of his soul, that Mr. Sylvester would return, and by his appearance cut short a suspense that was fast becoming unendurable. He had just returned from his third visit to the front d

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THE WORK OF AN HOUR.

THE WORK OF AN HOUR.

Mr. Sylvester upon leaving the bank, had taken his usual route up town. But after an aimless walk of a few blocks, he suddenly paused, and with a quiet look about him, drew from his pocket the small slip of paper which Bertram had laid on his table the night before, and hurriedly consulted its contents. Instantly an irrepressible exclamation escaped him, and he turned his face to the heavens with the look of one who recognizes the just providence of God. The name which he had just read, was that

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PAULA RELATES A STORY SHE HAS HEARD.

PAULA RELATES A STORY SHE HAS HEARD.

In the centre of a long low room not far from the scene of the late disaster, a solitary lamp was burning. It had been lit in haste and cast but a feeble flame, but its light was sufficient to illuminate the sad and silent group that gathered under its rays. On a bench by the wall, crouched the bowed and stricken form of Roger Holt, his face buried in his hands, his whole attitude expressive of the utmost grief; at his side stood Mr. Sylvester, his tall figure looming sombrely in the dim light;

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DETERMINATION.

DETERMINATION.

"Paula!" They had reached home and were standing in the library. "Yes," said she, lowering her head before his gaze with a sweet and conscious blush. "Did you read the letter I left for you in my desk up stairs?" She put her hand to her bosom and drew forth the closely written sheet. "Every word," she responded, and smilingly returned it to its place. He started and his chest heaved passionately. "You have read it," he cried, "and yet could follow me into that den of unknown dangers at an hour l

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IN MR. STUYVESANT'S PARLORS.

IN MR. STUYVESANT'S PARLORS.

"Unworthy?" "Yes." Cicely stared at her father with wide-open and incredulous eyes. "I cannot believe it," she murmured; "no, I cannot believe it." Her father drew up a chair to her side. "My daughter," said he, with unusual tenderness, "I have hesitated to tell you this, fearing to wound you; but my discretion will allow me to keep silence no longer. Bertram Sylvester is not an honest man, and the sooner you make up your mind to forget him, the better." "Not honest?" You would scarcely have rec

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"THE HOUR OF SIX IS SACRED."

"THE HOUR OF SIX IS SACRED."

It was at the close of a winter afternoon. Paula who had returned to Grotewell for the few weeks preceding her marriage, sat musing in the window of her aunt's quaint little parlor. Her eyes were on the fields before her all rosy with the departing rays of the sun, but her thoughts were far away. They were with him she best loved—with Cicely, waiting in patience for the solution of the mystery of the stolen bonds; with Bertram, eagerly, but as yet vainly, engaged in searching for the vanished ja

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THE MAN CUMMINS.

THE MAN CUMMINS.

Oh day and night, but this is wondrous strange."— Henry V. "Shut up in measureless content."— Othello. The lights were yet shining in Mr. Stuyvesant's parlors, though the guests were gone, who but a short time before had assembled there to witness the marriage of Cicely's dear friend, Paula. At one end of the room stood Mr. Sylvester and Bertram, the former gazing with the eyes of a bridegroom, at the delicate white-clad figure of Paula, just leaving the apartment with Cicely. "I have but one ca

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THE LEAVENWORTH CASE. By Anna Katherine Green.

THE LEAVENWORTH CASE. By Anna Katherine Green.

"Wilkie Collins, in his best period, never invented a more ingeniously constructed plot, nor held the reader in such suspense until the final denoûment . The most blasé novel-reader will be unable to put aside 'The Leavenworth Case' until he has read the last sentence and mastered the mystery which has baffled him from the beginning."— N. Y. Evening Express....

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A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT.

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT.

"A novel of decided excellence. * * * Contains delicate and charming work. Thoroughly clever * * * Its spirit is one of robust and healthy enthusiasm for manliness and womanliness."— N. Y. Evening Post....

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THE BRETON MILLS: A Romance of New England Life. By Charles J. Bellamy.

THE BRETON MILLS: A Romance of New England Life. By Charles J. Bellamy.

"Nothing from the pen of Mrs. Burnett was ever more intensely dramatic."— Jackson Daily Citizen. "Looked at from a purely literary point of view it is almost faultless. It shows a hand both of culture and power."— Detroit Evening News....

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CUPID AND THE SPHINX. By Harford Flemming.

CUPID AND THE SPHINX. By Harford Flemming.

"Its characters are skilfully drawn, its incidents well conceived, the dialogues brilliant, and the story told with ease and gracefulness."— Boston Transcript. "The suggestion of the story is extremely beautiful, and its treatment graceful and enchanting throughout."— Hartford Evening Post....

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A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE. By Anna Katherine Green.

A STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE. By Anna Katherine Green.

"Wilkie Collins would not need to be ashamed of the construction of this story. * * * It keeps the reader's close attention from first to last."— N. Y. Evening Post. "Shows the same skill as 'The Leavenworth Case' in the management of the plot and the incidents."— Boston Transcript....

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THE HEART OF IT: A Romance of East and West. By William O. Stoddard.

THE HEART OF IT: A Romance of East and West. By William O. Stoddard.

"Uncommonly good reading, even for that uncommonly readable Series."— Philadelphia Times. "An American novel, dealing with a few well-chosen characters and involving a striking and original plot. * * * A thoroughly entertaining piece of fiction."— Boston Traveller....

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UNCLE JACK'S EXECUTORS. By Annette Lucille Noble.

UNCLE JACK'S EXECUTORS. By Annette Lucille Noble.

"Comes from a writer of unusual talent. * * * Remarkable for its sketches of character, its naturalness, its frequent flashes of intellectual brightness, and its genuine humor. * * * One of the best novels of the season and deserving of a permanent place among works of genuine American fiction."— The Churchman....

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THE STRANDED SHIP: A Story of Sea and Shore. By L. Clarke Davis.

THE STRANDED SHIP: A Story of Sea and Shore. By L. Clarke Davis.

"Full of the finest dramatic action. * * * The work of a man of firm genius and exquisite delicacy of touch."— N. Y. Evening Post....

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NESTLENOOK. By Leonard Kip, Author of "The Dead Marquise," "Under the Bells," etc.

NESTLENOOK. By Leonard Kip, Author of "The Dead Marquise," "Under the Bells," etc.

Of "The Dead Marquise" the Boston Globe writes: "The book is admirable and its style almost perfect in its transparent simplicity."...

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MOTHER MOLLY. By Frances Mary Peard.

MOTHER MOLLY. By Frances Mary Peard.

"The book is charming; and, more than this, it is a well-finished historical study of stirring times."— Philadelphia Times. "It deserves to rank among the best English stories of the year."— Louisville Courier-Journal....

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