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. Rodney Stone by Arthur Conan Doyle (best motivational books txt) 📖
- Author: Arthur Conan Doyle
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Book online «Rodney Stone by Arthur Conan Doyle (best motivational books txt) 📖». Author Arthur Conan Doyle
“Stay where you are, Corcoran,” said he; and I caught a glimpse of a bottle-green coat which told me who was his travelling companion. “Well,” he continued, looking round him with an insolent stare, “I should vastly like to know who has had the insolence to give me so pressing an invitation to visit my own house, and what in the devil you mean by daring to trespass upon my grounds?”
“I promise you that you will understand this and a good deal more before we part, Sir Lothian,” said Jim, with a curious smile playing over his face. “If you will follow me, I will endeavour to make it all clear to you.”
With his mother’s hand in his own, he led us into that ill-omened room where the cards were still heaped upon the sideboard, and the dark shadow lurked in the corner of the ceiling.
“Now, sirrah, your explanation!” cried Sir Lothian, standing with his arms folded by the door.
“My first explanations I owe to you, Sir Charles,” said Jim; and as I listened to his voice and noted his manner, I could not but admire the effect which the company of her whom he now knew to be his mother had had upon a rude country lad. “I wish to tell you what occurred last night.”
“I will tell it for you, Jim,” said his mother. “You must know, Sir Charles, that though my son knew nothing of his parents, we were both alive, and had never lost sight of him. For my part, I let him have his own way in going to London and in taking up this challenge. It was only yesterday that it came to the ears of his father, who would have none of it. He was in the weakest health, and his wishes were not to be gainsayed. He ordered me to go at once and to bring his son to his side. I was at my wit’s end, for I was sure that Jim would never come unless a substitute were provided for him. I went to the kind, good couple who had brought him up, and I told them how matters stood. Mrs. Harrison loved Jim as if he had been her own son, and her husband loved mine, so they came to my help, and may God bless them for their kindness to a distracted wife and mother! Harrison would take Jim’s place if Jim would go to his father. Then I drove to Crawley. I found out which was Jim’s room, and I spoke to him through the window, for I was sure that those who had backed him would not let him go. I told him that I was his mother. I told him who was his father. I said that I had my phaeton ready, and that he might, for all I knew, be only in time to receive the dying blessing of that parent whom he had never known. Still the boy would not go until he had my assurance that Harrison would take his place.”
“Why did he not leave a message with Belcher?”
“My head was in a whirl, Sir Charles. To find a father and a mother, a new name and a new rank in a few minutes might turn a stronger brain than ever mine was. My mother begged me to come with her, and I went. The phaeton was waiting, but we had scarcely started when some fellow seized the horses’ heads, and a couple of ruffians attacked us. One of them I beat over the head with the butt of the whip, so that he dropped the cudgel with which he was about to strike me; then lashing the horse, I shook off the others and got safely away. I cannot imagine who they were or why they should molest us.”
“Perhaps Sir Lothian Hume could tell you,” said my uncle.
Our enemy said nothing; but his little grey eyes slid round with a most murderous glance in our direction.
“After I had come here and seen my father I went down—”
My uncle stopped him with a cry of astonishment.
“What did you say, young man? You came here and you saw your father—here at Cliffe Royal?”
“Yes, sir.”
My uncle had turned very pale.
“In God’s name, then, tell us who your father is!”
Jim made no answer save to point over our shoulders, and glancing round, we became aware that two people had entered the room through the door which led to the bedroom stair. The one I recognized in an instant. That impassive, mask-like face and demure manner could only belong to Ambrose, the former valet of my uncle. The other was a very different and even more singular figure. He was a tall man, clad in a dark dressing-gown, and leaning heavily upon a stick. His long, bloodless countenance was so thin and so white that it gave the strangest illusion of transparency. Only within the folds of a shroud have I ever seen so wan a face. The brindled hair and the rounded back gave the impression of advanced age, and it was only the dark brows and the bright alert eyes glancing out from beneath them which made me doubt whether it was really an old man who stood before us.
There was an instant of silence, broken by a deep oath from Sir Lothian Hume -
“Lord Avon, by God!” he cried.
“Very much at your service, gentlemen,” answered the strange figure in the dressing-gown.
My uncle was an impassive man by nature and had become more so by the tradition of the society in which he lived. He could have turned a card upon which his fortune depended without the twitch of a muscle, and I had seen him myself driving to imminent death on the Godstone Road with as calm a face as if he were out for his daily airing in the Mall. But now the shock which had come upon him was so great that he could only stand with white cheeks and staring, incredulous eyes. Twice I saw him open his lips, and twice he put his hand up to his throat, as though a barrier had risen betwixt himself and his utterance. Finally, he took a sudden little run forward with both his hands thrown out in greeting.
“Ned!” he cried.
But the strange man who stood before him folded his arms over his breast.
“No Charles,” said he.
My uncle stopped and looked at him in amazement.
“Surely, Ned, you have a greeting for me after all these years?”
“You believed me to have done this deed, Charles. I read it in your eyes and in your manner on that terrible morning. You never asked me for an explanation. You never considered how impossible such a crime must be for a man of my character. At the first breath of suspicion you, my intimate friend, the man who knew me best, set me down as a thief and a murderer.”
“No, no, Ned.”
“You did, Charles; I read it in your eyes. And so it was that when I wished to leave that which was most precious to me in safe hands I had to pass you over and to place him in the charge of the one man who from the first never doubted my innocence. Better a thousand times that my son should be brought up in a humble station and in ignorance of his unfortunate father, than that he should learn to share the doubts and suspicions of his equals.”
“Then he is really your son!” cried my uncle, staring at Jim in amazement.
For answer the man stretched out his long withered arm, and placed a gaunt hand upon the shoulder of the actress, whilst she looked up at him with love in her eyes.
“I married, Charles, and I kept it secret from my friends, for I had chosen my wife outside our own circles. You know the foolish pride which has always been the strongest part of my nature. I could not bear to avow that which I had done. It was this neglect upon my part which led to an estrangement between us, and drove her into habits for which it is I who am to blame and not she. Yet on account of these same habits I took the child from her and gave her an allowance on condition that she did not interfere with it. I had feared that the boy might receive evil from her, and had never dreamed in my blindness that she might get good from him. But I have learned in my miserable life, Charles, that there is a power which fashions things for us, though we may strive to thwart it, and that we are in truth driven by an unseen current towards a certain goal, however much we may deceive ourselves into thinking that it is our own sails and oars which are speeding us upon our way.”
My eyes had been upon the face of my uncle as he listened, but now as I turned them from him they fell once more upon the thin, wolfish face of Sir Lothian Hume. He stood near the window, his grey silhouette thrown up against the square of dusty glass; and I have never seen such a play of evil passions, of anger, of jealousy, of disappointed greed upon a human face before.
“Am I to understand,” said he, in a loud, harsh voice, “that this young man claims to be the heir of the peerage of Avon?”
“He is my lawful son.”
“I knew you fairly well, sir, in our youth; but you will allow me to observe that neither I nor any friend of yours ever heard of a wife or a son. I defy Sir Charles Tregellis to say that he ever dreamed that there was any heir except myself.”
“I have already explained, Sir Lothian, why I kept my marriage secret.”
“You have explained, sir; but it is for others in another place to say if that explanation is satisfactory.”
Two blazing dark eyes flashed out of the pale haggard face with as strange and sudden an effect as if a stream of light were to beat through the windows of a shattered and ruined house.
“You dare to doubt my word?”
“I demand a proof.”
“My word is proof to those who know me.”
“Excuse me, Lord Avon; but I know you, and I see no reason why I should accept your statement.”
It was a brutal speech, and brutally delivered. Lord Avon staggered forward, and it was only his son on one aide and his wife on the other who kept his quivering hands from the throat of his insulter. Sir Lothian recoiled from the pale fierce face with the black brows, but he still glared angrily about the room.
“A very pretty conspiracy this,” he cried, “with a criminal, an actress, and a prizefighter all playing their parts. Sir Charles Tregellis, you shall hear from me again! And you also, my lord!” He turned upon his heel and strode from the room.
“He has gone to denounce me,” said Lord Avon, a spasm of wounded pride distorting his features.
“Shall I bring him back?” cried Boy Jim.
“No, no, let him go. It is as well, for I have already made up my mind that my duty to you, my son, outweighs that which I owe, and have at such bitter cost fulfilled, to my brother and my family.”
“You did me an injustice, Ned,” said my uncle, “if you thought that I had forgotten you, or that I had judged you unkindly. If ever I have thought that you had done this deed—and
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