Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Maid of Maiden Lane by Amelia E. Barr (adventure books to read TXT) 📖
- Author: Amelia E. Barr
Book online «The Maid of Maiden Lane by Amelia E. Barr (adventure books to read TXT) 📖». Author Amelia E. Barr
This was the battle waged in Doctor Moran’s house for many awful weeks. The girl lay at Death’s door, and her father and mother watched every breath she drew. One day, while she was in extremity, the Doctor went himself to the apothecary’s for medicine. This medicine was his last hope and he desired to prepare it himself. As he came out of the store with it in his hand, Hyde looked at him with a steady imploration. He had evidently been waiting his exit.
“Sir!” he said, “I have heard a report that I cannot, I dare not believe.”
“Believe the worst—and stand aside, sir. I have neither patience nor words for you.”
“I beseech you, sir—”
“Touch me not! Out of my sight! Broadway is not wide enough for us two, unless you take the other side.”
“Your daughter? Oh sir, have some pity!”
“My daughter is dying.”
“Then sir, let me tell you, that your behaviour has been so brutal to her, and to me, that the Almighty shows both kindness and intelligence in taking her away:”—and with these words uttered in a blazing passion of indignation and pity, the young lord crossed to the other side of the street, leaving the Doctor confounded by his words and manner.
“There is something strange here,” he said to himself; “the fellow may be as bad as bad can be, but he neither looked nor spoke as if he had wronged Cornelia. If she lives I must get to the bottom of this affair. I should not wonder if it is the work of Dick Hyde—earl or general—as detestable a man as ever crossed my path.”
With this admission and wonder, the thought of Hyde passed from his mind; for at that hour the issue he had to consider was one of life or death. And although it was beyond all hope or expectation, Cornelia came back to life; came back very slowly, but yet with a solemn calm and a certain air of conscious dignity, as of one victorious over death and the grave. But she was perilously delicate, and the Doctor began to consider the dangers of her convalescence.
“Ava,” he said one evening when Cornelia had been downstairs awhile—“it will not do for the child to run the risk of meeting that man. I see him on the street frequently. The apothecary says he comes to his store to ask after her recovery nearly every day. He has not given her up, I am sure of that. He spoke to me once about her, and was outrageously impudent. There is something strange in the affair, but how can I move in it?”
“It is impossible. Can you quarrel with a man because he has deceived Cornelia? How cruel that would be to the child! You must bear and I must bear. Anything must be borne, rather than set the town wondering and talking.”
“It is a terrible position. I see not how I can endure it.”
“Put Cornelia before everything.”
“The best plan is to remove Cornelia out of danger. Why not take her to visit your brother Joseph? He has long desired you to do so.”
“Go to Philadelphia NOW! Joseph tells me Congress is in session, and the city gone mad over its new dignity. Nothing but balls and dinners are thought of; even the Quakers are to be seen in the finest modes and materials at entertainments; and Cornelia will hardly escape the fever of fashion and social gaiety. She has many acquaintances there.”
“I do not wish her to escape it. A change of human beings is as necessary as a change of air, or diet. She has had too much of George Hyde, and Madame Jacobus, and Rem Van Ariens.”
“I hear that Rem is greatly taken with Boston, and thinks of opening an office there.”
“Very prudent of Rem. What chance has he in New York with Hamilton and Burr, to carry off all the big prey? Make your arrangements as soon as possible to leave New York.”
“You are sure that you are right in choosing Philadelphia?”
“Yes—while Hyde is in New York. Write to your brother to-day; and as soon as Cornelia is a little stronger, I will go with you to Philadelphia.”
“And stay with us?”
“That is not to be expected. I have too much to do here,”
CHAPTER X — LIFE TIED IN A KNOT
One morning soon after the New Year, Hyde was returning to the Manor House from New York. It was a day to oppress thought, and tighten the heart, and kill all hope and energy. There was a monotonous rain and a sky like that of a past age—solemn and leaden—and the mud of the roads was unspeakable. He was compelled to ride slowly and to feel in its full force, as it were, the hostility of Nature. As he reached his home the rain ceased, and a thick mist, with noiseless entrance, pervaded all the environment; but no life, or sound of life, broke the melancholy sense of his utter desolation.
He took the road by the lake because it was the nearest road to the stables, where he wished to alight; but the sight of the livid water, and of the herons standing motionless under the huge cedars by its frozen edges, brought to speech and expression that stifled grief, which Nature this morning had intensified, not relieved.
“Those unearthly birds!” he said petulantly, “they look as if they had escaped the deluge by some mistake. Oh if I could forget! If I could only forget! And now she has gone! She has gone! I shall never see her again!” Grief feels it a kind of luxury to repeat some supreme cry of misery, and this lamentation for his lost love had this poignant satisfaction. He felt New York to be empty and void and dreary, and the Manor House with its physical cheer and comfort, and its store of affection, could not lift the stone from his heart.
In spite of the chilling mist the Earl had gone to see a neighbour about some land and local affairs, and his mother—oblivious of the coronet of a countess—was helping her housekeeper to make out the list of all household property at the beginning of the year 1792. She seemed a little annoyed at his intrusion, and recommended to him a change of apparel. Then he smiled at his forlorn, draggled condition, and went to his room.
Now it is a fact that in extreme dejection something good to eat, and something nice to wear, will often restore the inner man to his normal complacency; and when Hyde’s valet had seen to his master’s refreshment in every possible way, Hyde was at least reconciled to the idea of living a little longer. The mud-stained garments had disappeared, and as he walked up and down the luxurious room, brightened by the
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