ADVENTURE books online

Reading books adventure Nowadays a big variety of genres are exist. In our electronic library you can choose any book that suits your mood, request and purpose. This website is full of free ebooks. Reading online is very popular and become mainstream. This website can provoke you to be smarter than anyone. You can read between work breaks, in public transport, in cafes over a cup of coffee and cheesecake.
No matter where, but it’s important to read books in our elibrary , without registration.



Today let's analyze the genre adventure. Genre adventure is a reference book for adults and children. But it serve for adults and children in different purposes. If a boy or girl presents himself as a brave and courageous hero, doing noble deeds, then an adult with pleasure can be a little distracted from their daily worries.


A great interest to the reader is the adventure of a historical nature. For example, question: «Who discovered America?»
Today there are quite interesting descriptions of the adventures of Portuguese sailors, who visited this continent 20 years before Columbus.




It should be noted the different quality of literary works created in the genre of adventure. There is an understandable interest of generations of people in the classic adventure. At the same time, new works, which are created by contemporary authors, make classic works in the adventure genre quite worthy competition.
The close attention of readers to the genre of adventure is explained by the very essence of man, which involves constant movement, striving for something new, struggle and achievement of success. Adventure genre is very excited
Heroes of adventure books are always strong and brave. And we, off course, want to be like them. Unfortunately, book life is very different from real life.But that doesn't stop us from loving books even more.

Read books online » Adventure » The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson (good ebook reader .TXT) 📖

Book online «The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson (good ebook reader .TXT) 📖». Author Meredith Nicholson



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better

stock up at once, in case we should be shut off from our

source of supplies. This is a lonely place here; even

the school is a remote neighbor. Better let Bates raid

the village shops to-morrow. I’ve tried being hungry,

and I don’t care to repeat the experience.”

 

And Larry reached for the tobacco jar.

 

“I can’t imagine, I really can’t believe,” began the

chaplain, “that Miss Devereux will want to be brought

into this estate matter in any way. In fact, I have heard

Sister Theresa say as much. I suppose there’s no way

of preventing a man from leaving his property to a

young woman, who has no claim on him—who doesn’t

want anything from him.”

 

“Bah, these women! People don’t throw legacies to

the birds these days. Of course she’ll take it.”

 

Then his eyes widened and met mine in a gaze that

reflected the mystification and wonder that struck both

of us. Stoddard turned from the fire suddenly:

 

“What’s that? There’s some one up stairs!”

 

Larry was already running toward the hall, and I

heard him springing up the steps like a cat, while Stoddard

and I followed.

 

“Where’s Bates?” demanded the chaplain.

 

“I’ll thank you for the answer,” I replied.

 

Larry stood at the top of the staircase, holding a

candle at arm’s length in front of him, staring about.

 

We could hear quite distinctly some one walking

on a stairway; the sounds were unmistakable, just as

I had heard them on several previous occasions, without

ever being able to trace their source.

 

The noise ceased suddenly, leaving us with no hint of

its whereabouts.

 

I went directly to the rear of the house and found

Bates putting the dishes away in the pantry.

 

“Where have you been?” I demanded.

 

“Here, sir; I have been clearing up the dinner things,

Mr. Glenarm. Is there anything the matter, sir?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

I joined the others in the library.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me this feudal imitation was

haunted?” asked Larry, in a grieved tone. “All it needed

was a cheerful ghost, and now I believe it lacks absolutely

nothing. I’m increasingly glad I came. How

often does it walk?”

 

“It’s not on a schedule. Just now it’s the wind in

the tower probably; the wind plays queer pranks up

there sometimes.”

 

“You’ll have to do better than that, Glenarm,” said

Stoddard. “It’s as still outside as a country graveyard.”

 

“Only the slaugh sidhe, the people of the faery hills,

the cheerfulest ghosts in the world,” said Larry. “You

literal Saxons can’t grasp the idea, of course.”

 

But there was substance enough in our dangers without

pursuing shadows. Certain things were planned

that night. We determined to exercise every precaution

to prevent a surprise from without, and we resolved

upon a new and systematic sounding of walls and floors,

taking our clue from the efforts made by Morgan and

his ally to find hiding-places by this process. Pickering

would undoubtedly arrive shortly, and we wished to

anticipate his movements as far as possible.

 

We resolved, too, upon a day patrol of the grounds

and a night guard. The suggestion came, I believe,

from Stoddard, whose interest in my affairs was only

equaled by the fertility of his suggestions. One of us

should remain abroad at night, ready to sound the alarm

in case of attack. Bates should take his turn with the

rest—Stoddard insisted on it.

 

Within two days we were, as Larry expressed it, on a

war footing. We added a couple of shot-guns and several

revolvers to my own arsenal, and piled the library

table with cartridge boxes. Bates, acting as quarter-master,

brought a couple of wagon-loads of provisions.

Stoddard assembled a remarkable collection of heavy

sticks; he had more confidence in them, he said, than in

gunpowder, and, moreover, he explained, a priest might

not with propriety hear arms.

 

It was a cheerful company of conspirators that now

gathered around the big hearth. Larry, always restless,

preferred to stand at one side, an elbow on the

mantel-shelf, pipe in mouth; and Stoddard sought the

biggest chair—and filled it. He and Larry understood

each other at once, and Larry’s stories, ranging in subject

from undergraduate experiences at Dublin to adventures

in Africa and always including endless conflicts

with the Irish constabulary, delighted the big boyish

clergyman.

 

Often, at some one’s suggestion of a new idea, we ran

off to explore the house again in search of the key to the

Glenarm riddle, and always we came back to the library

with that riddle still unsolved.

CHAPTER XXII

THE RETURN OF MARIAN DEVEREUX

 

“Sister Theresa has left, sir.”

 

Bates had been into Annandale to mail some letters,

and I was staring out upon the park from the library

windows when he entered. Stoddard, having kept watch

the night before, was at home asleep, and Larry was off

somewhere in the house, treasure-hunting. I was feeling

decidedly discouraged over our failure to make any

progress with our investigations, and Bates’ news did

not interest me.

 

“Well, what of it?” I demanded, without turning

round.

 

“Nothing, sir; but Miss Devereux has come back!”

 

“The devil!”

 

I turned and took a step toward the door.

 

“I said Miss Devereux,” he repeated in dignified rebuke.

“She came up this morning, and the Sister left

at once for Chicago. Sister Theresa depends particularly

upon Miss Devereux—so I’ve heard, sir. Miss

Devereux quite takes charge when the Sister goes away.

A few of the students are staying in school through the

holidays.”

 

“You seem full of information,” I remarked, taking

another step toward my hat and coat.

 

“And I’ve learned something else, sir.”

 

“Well?”

 

“They all came together, sir.”

 

“Who came; if you please, Bates?”

 

“Why, the people who’ve been traveling with Mr.

Pickering came back with him, and Miss Devereux came

with them from Cincinnati. That’s what I learned in

the village. And Mr. Pickering is going to stay—”

 

“Pickering stay!”

 

“At his cottage on the lake for a while. The reason

is that he’s worn out with his work, and wishes quiet.

The other people went back to New York in the car.”

 

“He’s opened a summer cottage in mid-winter, has

he?”

 

I had been blue enough without this news. Marian

Devereux had come back to Annandale with Arthur

Pickering; my faith in her snapped like a reed at this

astounding news. She was now entitled to my grandfather’s

property and she had lost no time in returning

as soon as she and Pickering had discussed together at

the Armstrongs’ my flight from Annandale. Her return

could have no other meaning than that there was a

strong tie between them, and he was now to stay on the

ground until I should be dispossessed and her rights

established. She had led me to follow her, and my forfeiture

had been sealed by that stolen interview at the

Armstrongs’. It was a black record, and the thought of

it angered me against myself and the world.

 

“Tell Mr. Donovan that I’ve gone to St. Agatha’s,”

I said, and I was soon striding toward the school.

 

A Sister admitted me. I heard the sound of a piano,

somewhere in the building, and I consigned the inventor

of pianos to hideous torment as scales were

pursued endlessly up and down the keys. Two girls

passing through the hall made a pretext of looking for

a book and came in and exclaimed over their inability

to find it with much suppressed giggling.

 

The piano-pounding continued and I waited for what

seemed an interminable time. It was growing dark and

a maid lighted the oil lamps. I took a book from the

table. It was The Life of Benvenuto Cellini and “Marian

Devereux” was written on the fly leaf, by unmistakably

the same hand that penned the apology for

Olivia’s performances. I saw in the clear flowing lines

of the signature, in their lack of superfluity, her own

ease, grace and charm; and, in the deeper stroke with

which the x was crossed, I felt a challenge, a readiness

to abide by consequences once her word was given.

Then my own inclination to think well of her angered

me. It was only a pretty bit of chirography, and I

dropped the book impatiently when I heard her step

on the threshold.

 

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Glenarm.

But this is my busy hour.”

 

“I shall not detain you long. I came,”—I hesitated,

not knowing why I had come.

 

She took a chair near the open door and bent forward

with an air of attention that was disquieting. She

wore black—perhaps to fit her the better into the house

of a somber Sisterhood. I seemed suddenly to remember

her from a time long gone, and the effort of memory

threw me off guard. Stoddard had said there were

several Olivia Armstrongs; there were certainly many

Marian Devereuxs. The silence grew intolerable; she

was waiting for me to speak, and I blurted:

 

“I suppose you have come to take charge of the property.”

 

“Do you?” she asked.

 

“And you came back with the executor to facilitate

matters. I’m glad to see that you lose no time.”

 

“Oh!” she said lingeringly, as though she were finding

with difficulty the note in which I wished to pitch

the conversation. Her calmness was maddening.

 

“I suppose you thought it unwise to wait for the

bluebird when you had beguiled me into breaking a

promise, when I was trapped, defeated—”

 

Her elbow on the arm of the chair, her hand resting

against her check, the light rippling goldenly in her

hair, her eyes bent upon me inquiringly, mournfully—

mournfully, as I had seen them—where?—once before!

My heart leaped in that moment, with that thought.

 

“I remember now the first time!” I exclaimed, more

angry than I had ever been before in my life.

 

“That is quite remarkable,” she said, and nodded her

head ironically.

 

“It was at Sherry’s; you were with Pickering—you

dropped your fan and he picked it up, and you turned

toward me for a moment. You were in black that

night; it was the unhappiness in your face, in your

eyes, that made me remember.”

 

I was intent upon the recollection, eager to fix and

establish it.

 

“You are quite right. It was at Sherry’s. I was

wearing black then; many things made me unhappy

that night.”

 

Her forehead contracted slightly and she pressed her

lips together.

 

“I suppose that even then the conspiracy was thoroughly

arranged,” I said tauntingly, laughing a little

perhaps, and wishing to wound her, to take vengeance

upon her.

 

She rose and stood by her chair, one hand resting

upon it. I faced her; her eyes were like violet seas.

She spoke very quietly.

 

“Mr. Glenarm, has it occurred to you that when I

talked to you there in the park, when I risked unpleasant

gossip in receiving you in a house where you had

no possible right to be, that I was counting upon something,

—foolishly and stupidly—yet counting upon it?”

 

“You probably thought I was a fool,” I retorted.

 

“No;”—she smiled slightly—“I thought—I believe

I have said this to you before!—you were a gentleman.

I really did, Mr. Glenarm. I must say it to justify

myself. I relied upon your chivalry; I even thought,

when I played being Olivia, that you had a sense of

honor. But you are not the one and you haven’t the

other. I even went so far, after you knew perfectly

well who I was, as to try to help you—to give you

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