You are here
قراءة كتاب Tempest-Driven (Vol. I of 3) A Romance
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://archive.org/details/tempestdrivenrom01dowl
(University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign)
TEMPEST-DRIVEN
TEMPEST-DRIVEN
A Romance.
BY
RICHARD DOWLING,
AUTHOR OF "THE MYSTERY OF KILLARD," "THE WEIRD SISTERS,"
"THE SPORT OF FATE," "UNDER ST. PAUL'S," "THE DUKE'S SWEETHEART,"
"SWEET INISFAIL," "THE HIDDEN FLAME," ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST., STRAND.
1886.
[All rights reserved.]
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS,
CRYSTAL PLACE PRESS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
MR. DAVENPORT'S ACCOUNT OF THE MATTER.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
CHAPTER XII.
CHAPTER XIII.
CHAPTER XIV.
CHAPTER XV.
"I SHALL BE READY FOR MY DEATH WHEN THEY ARE READY FOR IT!"
CHAPTER XVI.
CHAPTER XVII.
TEMPEST-TOSSED
CHAPTER I.
IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.
It was pitch dark, and long past midnight. The last train from the City had just steamed out of Herne Hill railway station. The air was clear and crisp. Under foot the ground was dry and firm with February frost. All the shops in the neighbourhood had long since been shut. Few lights burned in the fronts of private houses. The Dulwich Road was deserted, and looked dreary and forlorn under its tall, skeleton, motionless, silent trees. There was not a sound abroad save the gradually-dying rumble of the train, and the footfalls and voices of the few people who had alighted from it. Little by little these sounds died away, and the stillness was as great as in the pulseless heart of a calm at sea.
Alfred Paulton had arrived by the last train. He was twenty-eight years of age, of middle height, and fair complexion. He lived in Half Moon Lane, and after saying good-night to some acquaintances who came out in the train with him, turned under the railway viaduct at Herne Hill, and walked in the direction of his home. He was in no hurry, for he knew his father and mother and sisters had gone to bed long ago. He had his latch-key, and should let himself in. His ulster covered him comfortably from neck to heel. He had supped pleasantly with a few friends at his club, the Robin Hood, and earlier in the day finished, a very agreeable transaction with his solicitor, and now had in his pocket a handsome bundle of notes.
As he walked he swung his stick, and hummed in a whisper a few bars from the favourite air of a comic opera which he had been to hear that evening.
Suddenly he started. As he was directly opposite the door of a house, standing back a few yards from the road, the door opened noisily, and he heard a woman's voice in a tone of piteous entreaty exclaim:
"Oh, what shall I do--what shall I do?"
Alfred Paulton drew up and listened. For a while all was silent.