EAGLE SERIES NO. 393
ON THE WINGS OF FATE
By EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS
[Illustration]
STREET PUBLISHERS
~AND~ [Illustration] ~·~
SMITH NEW YORK
_Copyright Fiction by the Best Authors_
NEW EAGLE SERIES
A Big New Book Issued Weekly in this Line.
An Unequaled Collection of Modern Romances.
The books in this line comprise an unrivaled collection of copyrighted
novels by authors who have won fame wherever the English language is
spoken. Foremost among these is Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, whose works
are contained in this line exclusively. Every book in the New Eagle
Series is of generous length, of attractive appearance, and of
undoubted merit. No better literature can be had at any price. Beware
of imitations of the S. & S. novels, which are sold cheap because
their publishers were put to no expense in the matter of purchasing
manuscripts and making plates.
ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT
TO THE PUBLIC:—These books are sold by news dealers everywhere.
If your dealer does not keep them, and will not get them for you,
send direct to the publishers, in which case four cents must be
added to the price per copy to cover postage.
=Quo Vadis= (New Illustrated Edition) By Henryk Sienkiewicz
1—Queen Bess By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
2—Ruby’s Reward By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
7—Two Keys By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
12—Edrie’s Legacy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
44—That Dowdy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
55—Thrice Wedded By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
66—Witch Hazel By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
77—Tina By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
88—Virgie’s Inheritance By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
99—Audrey’s Recompense By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
111—Faithful Shirley By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
122—Grazia’s Mistake By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
133—Max By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
144—Dorothy’s Jewels By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
155—Nameless Dell By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
166—The Masked Bridal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
177—A True Aristocrat By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
188—Dorothy Arnold’s Escape By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
199—Geoffrey’s Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
210—Wild Oats By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
219—Lost, A Pearle By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
222—The Lily of Mordaunt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
233—Nora By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
244—A Hoiden’s Conquest By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
255—The Little Marplot By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
266—The Welfleet Mystery By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
277—Brownie’s Triumph By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
282—The Forsaken Bride By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
288—Sibyl’s Influence By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
291—A Mysterious Wedding Ring By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
299—Little Miss Whirlwind By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
311—Wedded by Fate By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
339—His Heart’s Queen By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
351—The Churchyard Betrothal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
362—Stella Rosevelt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
372—A Girl in a Thousand By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
373—A Thorn Among Roses By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
Sequel to “A Girl in a Thousand”
382—Mona By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
391—Marguerite’s Heritage By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
399—Betsey’s Transformation By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
407—Esther, the Fright By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
415—Trixy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
419—The Other Woman By Charles Garvice
433—Winifred’s Sacrifice By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
440—Edna’s Secret Marriage By Charles Garvice
451—Helen’s Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
458—When Love Meets Love By Charles Garvice
476—Earle Wayne’s Nobility By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
511—The Golden Key By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
512—A Heritage of Love By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
Sequel to “The Golden Key”
519—The Magic Cameo By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
520—The Heatherford Fortune By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
Sequel to “The Magic Cameo”
531—Better Than Life By Charles Garvice
537—A Life’s Mistake By Charles Garvice
542—Once in a Life By Charles Garvice
548—’Twas Love’s Fault By Charles Garvice
553—Queen Kate By Charles Garvice
554—Step by Step By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
555—Put to the Test By Ida Reade Allen
556—With Love’s Aid By Wenona Gilman
557—In Cupid’s Chains By Charles Garvice
558—A Plunge Into the Unknown By Richard Marsh
559—The Love That Was Cursed By Geraldine Fleming
560—The Thorns of Regret By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
561—The Outcast of the Family By Charles Garvice
562—A Forced Promise By Ida Reade Allen
563—The Old Homestead By Denman Thompson
564—Love’s First Kiss By Emma Garrison Jones
565—Just a Girl By Charles Garvice
566—In Love’s Springtime By Laura Jean Libbey
567—Trixie’s Honor By Geraldine Fleming
568—Hearts and Dollars By Ida Reade Allen
569—By Devious Ways By Charles Garvice
570—Her Heart’s Unbidden Guest By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
571—Two Wild Girls By Mrs. Charlotte May Kingsley
572—Amid Scarlet Roses By Emma Garrison Jones
573—Heart for Heart By Charles Garvice
574—The Fugitive Bride By Mary E. Bryan
575—A Blue Grass Heroine By Ida Reade Allen
576—The Yellow Face By Fred M. White
577—The Story of a Passion By Charles Garvice
579—The Curse of Beauty By Geraldine Fleming
580—The Great Awakening By E. Phillips Oppenheim
581—A Modern Juliet By Charles Garvice
582—Virgie Talcott’s Mission By Lucy M. Russell
583—His Greatest Sacrifice; or, Manch By Mary E. Bryan
584—Mabel’s Fate By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
585—The Ape and the Diamond By Richard Marsh
586—Nell, of Shorne Mills By Charles Garvice
587—Katherine’s Two Suitors By Geraldine Fleming
588—The Crime of Love By Barbara Howard
589—His Father’s Crime By E. Phillips Oppenheim
590—What Was She to Him? By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
591—A Heritage of Hate By Charles Garvice
592—Ida Chaloner’s Heart By Lucy Randall Comfort
593—Love Will Find the Way By Wenona Gilman
594—A Case of Identity By Richard Marsh
595—The Shadow of Her Life By Charles Garvice
596—Slighted Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
597—Her Fatal Gift By Geraldine Fleming
598—His Wife’s Friend By Mary E. Bryan
599—At Love’s Cost By Charles Garvice
600—St. Elmo By Augusta J. Evans
601—The Fate of the Plotter By Louis Tracy
602—Married in Error By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
603—Love and Jealousy By Lucy Randall Comfort
604—Only a Working Girl By Geraldine Fleming
605—Love, the Tyrant By Charles Garvice
606—Mabel’s Sacrifice By Charlotte M. Stanley
608—Love is Love Forevermore By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
609—John Elliott’s Flirtation By Lucy May Russell
610—With All Her Heart By Charles Garvice
611—Is Love Worth While? By Geraldine Fleming
612—Her Husband’s Other Wife By Emma Garrison Jones
613—Philip Bennion’s Death By Richard Marsh
614—Little Phillis’ Lover By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
615—Maida By Charles Garvice
617—As a Man Lives By E. Phillips Oppenheim
618—The Tide of Fate By Wenona Gilman
619—The Cardinal Moth By Fred M. White
620—Marcia Drayton By Charles Garvice
621—Lynette’s Wedding By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
622—His Madcap Sweetheart By Emma Garrison Jones
623—Love at the Loom By Geraldine Fleming
624—A Bachelor Girl By Lucy May Russell
625—Kyra’s Fate By Charles Garvice
626—The Joss By Richard Marsh
627—My Little Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
628—A Daughter of the Marionis By E. Phillips Oppenheim
629—The Lady of Beaufort Park By Wenona Gilman
630—The Verdict of the Heart By Charles Garvice
631—A Love Concealed By Emma Garrison Jones
633—The Strange Disappearance of Lady Delia By Louis Tracy
634—Love’s Golden Spell By Geraldine Fleming
635—A Coronet of Shame By Charles Garvice
636—Sinned Against By Mary E. Bryan
637—If It Were True! By Wenona Gilman
638—A Golden Barrier By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
639—A Hateful Bondage By Barbara Howard
640—A Girl of Spirit By Charles Garvice
641—Master of Men By E. Phillips Oppenheim
642—A Fair Enchantress By Ida Reade Allen
643—The Power of Love By Geraldine Fleming
644—No Time for Penitence By Wenona Gilman
645—A Jest of Fate By Charles Garvice
646—Her Sister’s Secret By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
647—Bitterly Atoned By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
648—Gertrude Elliott’s Crucible By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
649—The Corner House By Fred M. White
650—Diana’s Destiny By Charles Garvice
651—Love’s Clouded Dawn By Wenona Gilman
652—Little Vixen By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
653—Her Heart’s Challenge By Barbara Howard
654—Vivian’s Love Story By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
655—Linked by Fate By Charles Garvice
656—Hearts of Stone By Geraldine Fleming
657—In the Service of Love By Richard Marsh
658—Love’s Devious Course By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
659—Told in the Twilight By Ida Reade Allen
660—The Mills of the Gods By Wenona Gilman
661—The Man of the Hour By Sir William Magnay
662—A Little Barbarian By Charlotte Kingsley
663—Creatures of Destiny By Charles Garvice
664—A Southern Princess By Emma Garrison Jones
666—A Fateful Promise By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
667—The Goddess—A Demon By Richard Marsh
668—From Tears to Smiles By Ida Reade Allen
670—Better Than Riches By Wenona Gilman
671—When Love Is Young By Charles Garvice
672—Craven Fortune By Fred M. White
673—Her Life’s Burden By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
674—The Heart of Hetta By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
675—The Breath of Slander By Ida Reade Allen
676—My Lady Beth By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
677—The Wooing of Esther Gray By Louis Tracy
678—The Shadow Between Them By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
679—Gold in the Gutter By Charles Garvice
680—Master of Her Fate By Geraldine Fleming
681—In Full Cry By Richard Marsh
682—My Pretty Maid By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
683—An Unhappy Bargain By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
684—Her Enduring Love By Ida Reade Allen
685—India’s Punishment By Laura Jean Libbey
686—The Castle of the Shadows By Mrs. C. N. Williamson
687—My Own Sweetheart By Wenona Gilman
688—Only a Kiss By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
689—Lola Dunbar’s Crime By Barbara Howard
690—Ruth, the Outcast By Mrs. Mary E. Bryan
691—Her Dearest Love By Geraldine Fleming
692—The Man of Millions By Ida Reade Allen
693—For Another’s Fault By Charlotte M. Stanley
694—The Belle of Saratoga By Lucy Randall Comfort
695—The Mystery of the Unicorn By Sir William Magnay
696—The Bride’s Opals By Emma Garrison Jones
697—One of Life’s Roses By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
698—The Battle of Hearts By Geraldine Fleming
700—In Wolf’s Clothing By Charles Garvice
701—A Lost Sweetheart By Ida Reade Allen
702—The Stronger Passion By Mrs. Lillian R. Drayton
703—Mr. Marx’s Secret By E. Phillips Oppenheim
704—Had She Loved Him Less! By Laura Jean Libbey
705—The Adventure of Princess Sylvia By Mrs. C. N. Williamson
706—In Love’s Paradise By Charlotte M. Stanley
707—At Another’s Bidding By Ida Reade Allen
708—Sold for Gold By Geraldine Fleming
710—Ridgeway of Montana By William MacLeod Raine
711—Taken by Storm By Emma Garrison Jones
712—Love and a Lie By Charles Garvice
713—Barriers of Stone By Wenona Gilman
714—Ethel’s Secret By Charlotte M. Stanley
715—Amber, the Adopted By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
716—No Man’s Wife By Ida Reade Allen
717—Wild and Willful By Lucy Randall Comfort
718—When We Two Parted By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
719—Love’s Earnest Prayer By Geraldine Fleming
720—The Price of a Kiss By Laura Jean Libbey
721—A Girl from the South By Charles Garvice
722—A Freak of Fate By Emma Garrison Jones
723—A Golden Sorrow By Charlotte M. Stanley
724—Norna’s Black Fortune By Ida Reade Allen
725—The Thoroughbred By Edith MacVane
726—Diana’s Peril By Dorothy Hall
727—His Willing Slave By Lillian R. Drayton
728—Her Share of Sorrow By Wenona Gilman
729—Loved at Last By Geraldine Fleming
730—John Hungerford’s Redemption By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
731—His Two Loves By Ida Reade Allen
732—Eric Braddon’s Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
733—Garrison’s Finish By W. B. M. Ferguson
734—Sylvia, the Forsaken By Charlotte M. Stanley
735—Married for Money By Lucy Randall Comfort
736—Married in Haste By Wenona Gilman
737—At Her Father’s Bidding By Geraldine Fleming
738—The Power of Gold By Ida Reade Allen
739—The Strength of Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
740—A Soul Laid Bare By J. K. Egerton
741—The Fatal Ruby By Charles Garvice
742—A Strange Wooing By Richard Marsh
743—A Lost Love By Wenona Gilman
744—A Useless Sacrifice By Emma Garrison Jones
745—A Will of Her Own By Ida Reade Allen
746—That Girl Named Hazel By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
747—For a Flirt’s Love By Geraldine Fleming
748—The World’s Great Snare By E. Phillips Oppenheim
749—The Heart of a Maid By Charles Garvice
750—Driven from Home By Wenona Gilman
751—The Gypsy’s Warning By Emma Garrison Jones
752—Without Name or Wealth By Ida Reade Allen
753—Loyal Unto Death By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
754—His Lost Heritage By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
755—Her Priceless Love By Geraldine Fleming
756—Leola’s Heart By Charlotte M. Stanley
757—Dare-devil Betty By Evelyn Malcolm
758—The Woman in It By Charles Garvice
759—They Met by Chance By Ida Reade Allen
760—Love Conquers Pride By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
761—A Reckless Promise By Emma Garrison Jones
762—The Rose of Yesterday By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
763—The Other Girl’s Lover By Lillian R. Drayton
764—His Unbounded Faith By Charlotte M. Stanley
765—When Love Speaks By Evelyn Malcolm
766—The Man She Hated By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
767—No One to Help Her By Ida Reade Allen
768—Claire’s Love-Life By Lucy Randall Comfort
769—Love’s Harvest By Adelaide Fox Robinson
770—A Queen of Song By Geraldine Fleming
771—Nan Haggard’s Confession By Mary E. Bryan
772—A Married Flirt By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
773—The Thorns of Love By Evelyn Malcolm
774—Love in a Snare By Charles Garvice
775—My Love Kitty By Charles Garvice
776—That Strange Girl By Charles Garvice
777—Nellie By Charles Garvice
778—Miss Estcourt; or, Olive By Charles Garvice
779—A Virginia Goddess By Ida Reade Allen
780—The Love He Sought By Lillian R. Drayton
781—Falsely Accused By Geraldine Fleming
782—His First Sweetheart By Lucy Randall Comfort
783—All for Love By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
784—What Love Can Cost By Evelyn Malcolm
785—Lady Gay’s Martyrdom By Charlotte May Kingsley
786—His Good Angel By Emma Garrison Jones
787—A Bartered Soul By Adelaide Fox Robinson
788—In Love’s Shadows By Ida Reade Allen
789—A Love Worth Winning By Geraldine Fleming
790—The Fatal Kiss By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
791—A Lover Scorned By Lucy Randall Comfort
792—After Many Days By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
793—An Innocent Outlaw By William Wallace Cook
794—The Arm of the Law By Evelyn Malcolm
795—The Reluctant Queen By J. Kenilworth Egerton
796—The Cost of Pride By Lillian R. Drayton
797—What Love Made Her By Geraldine Fleming
798—Brave Heart By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
799—Between Good and Evil By Charlotte M. Stanley
800—Caught in Love’s Net By Ida Reade Allen
801—Love is a Mystery By Adelaide Fox Robinson
802—The Glitter of Jewels By J. Kenilworth Egerton
803—The Game of Life By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
804—A Dreadful Legacy By Geraldine Fleming
805—Rogers, of Butte By William Wallace Cook
806—The Haunting Past By Evelyn Malcolm
807—The Love That Would Not Die By Ida Reade Allen
808—The Serpent and the Dove By Charlotte May Kingsley
809—Through the Shadows By Adelaide Fox Robinson
810—Her Kingdom By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
811—When Dark Clouds Gather By Geraldine Fleming
812—Her Fateful Choice By Charlotte M. Stanley
813—Sorely Tried By Emma Garrison Jones
814—Far Above Price By Evelyn Malcolm
815—Bitter Sweet By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
816—A Clouded Life By Ida Reade Allen
817—When Fate Decrees By Adelaide Fox Robinson
818—The Girl Who Was True By Charles Garvice
819—Where Love is Sent By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
820—The Pride of My Heart By Laura Jean Libbey
821—The Girl in Red By Evelyn Malcolm
822—Why Did She Shun Him? By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
823—Between Love and Conscience By Charlotte M. Stanley
824—Spectres of the Past By Ida Reade Allen
825—The Hearts of the Mighty By Adelaide Fox Robinson
826—The Irony of Love By Charles Garvice
827—At Arms With Fate By Charlotte May Kingsley
828—Love’s Young Dream By Laura Jean Libbey
829—Her Golden Secret By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
830—The Stolen Bride By Evelyn Malcolm
831—Love’s Rugged Pathway By Ida Reade Allen
832—A Love Rejected—A Love Won By Geraldine Fleming
833—Her Life’s Dark Cloud By Lillian R. Drayton
834—A Hero for Love’s Sake By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
835—When the Heart Hungers By Charlotte M. Stanley
836—Love Given in Vain By Adelaide Fox Robinson
837—The Web of Life By Ida Reade Allen
838—Love Surely Triumphs By Charlotte May Kingsley
839—The Lovely Constance By Laura Jean Libbey
840—On a Sea of Sorrow By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
841—Her Hated Husband By Evelyn Malcolm
842—When Hearts Beat True By Geraldine Fleming
843—WO2 By Maurice Drake
844—Too Quickly Judged By Ida Reade Allen
To be published during August, 1913.
845—For Her Husband’s Love By Charlotte May Stanley
846—The Fatal Rose By Adelaide Fox Robinson
847—The Love That Prevailed By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
848—Just an Angel By Lillian R. Drayton
To be published during September, 1913.
849—Stronger Than Fate By Emma Garrison Jones
850—A Life’s Love By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
851—From Dreams to Waking By Charlotte M. Kingsley
852—A Barrier Between Them By Evelyn Malcolm
To be published during October, 1913.
853—His Love for Her By Geraldine Fleming
854—A Changeling’s Love By Ida Reade Allen
855—Could He Have Known! By Charlotte May Stanley
856—Loved in Vain By Adelaide Fox Robinson
857—The Fault of One By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
To be published during November, 1913.
858—Her Life’s Desire By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
859—A Wife Yet no Wife By Lillian R. Drayton
860—Her Twentieth Guest By Emma Garrison Jones
861—The Love Knot By Charlotte M. Kingsley
To be published during December, 1913.
862—Tricked into Marriage By Evelyn Malcolm
863—The Spell She Wove By Geraldine Fleming
864—The Mistress of the Farm By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
865—Chained to a Villain By Ida Reade Allen
866—No Mother to Guide Her By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed above will be issued, during the respective months, in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers, at a distance,
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.
THE EAGLE SERIES
Principally Copyrights Elegant Colored Covers
“THE RIGHT BOOKS AT THE RIGHT PRICE”
While the books in the New Eagle Series are undoubtedly better value,
being bigger books, the stories offered to the public in this line
must not be underestimated. There are over four hundred copyrighted
books by famous authors, which cannot be had in any other line. No
other publisher in the world has a line that contains so many different
titles, nor can any publisher ever hope to secure books that will match
those in the Eagle Series in quality.
This is the pioneer line of copyrighted novels, and that it has struck
popular fancy just right is proven by the fact that for fifteen years
it has been the first choice of American readers. The only reason
that we can afford to give such excellent reading at such a low
price is that our unlimited capital and great organization enable us
to manufacture books more cheaply and to sell more of them without
expensive advertising, than any other publishers.
ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT
TO THE PUBLIC:—These books are sold by news dealers everywhere.
If your dealer does not keep them, and will not get them for you,
send direct to the publishers, in which case four cents must be
added to the price per copy to cover postage.
3—The Love of Violet Lee By Julia Edwards
4—For a Woman’s Honor By Bertha M. Clay
5—The Senator’s Favorite By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
6—The Midnight Marriage By A. M. Douglas
8—Beautiful But Poor By Julia Edwards
9—The Virginia Heiress By May Agnes Fleming
10—Little Sunshine By Francis S. Smith
11—The Gipsy’s Daughter By Bertha M. Clay
13—The Little Widow By Julia Edwards
14—Violet Lisle By Bertha M. Clay
15—Dr. Jack By St. George Rathborne
16—The Fatal Card By Haddon Chambers and B. C. Stephenson
17—Leslie’s Loyalty By Charles Garvice
(His Love So True)
18—Dr. Jack’s Wife By St. George Rathborne
19—Mr. Lake of Chicago By Harry DuBois Milman
21—A Heart’s Idol By Bertha M. Clay
22—Elaine By Charles Garvice
23—Miss Pauline of New York By St. George Rathborne
24—A Wasted Love By Charles Garvice
(On Love’s Altar)
25—Little Southern Beauty By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
26—Captain Tom By St. George Rathborne
27—Estelle’s Millionaire Lover By Julia Edwards
28—Miss Caprice By St. George Rathborne
29—Theodora By Victorien Sardou
30—Baron Sam By St. George Rathborne
31—A Siren’s Love By Robert Lee Tyler
32—The Blockade Runner By J. Perkins Tracy
33—Mrs. Bob By St. George Rathborne
34—Pretty Geraldine By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
35—The Great Mogul By St. George Rathborne
36—Fedora By Victorien Sardou
37—The Heart of Virginia By J. Perkins Tracy
38—The Nabob of Singapore By St. George Rathborne
39—The Colonel’s Wife By Warren Edwards
40—Monsieur Bob By St. George Rathborne
41—Her Heart’s Desire By Charles Garvice
(An Innocent Girl)
42—Another Woman’s Husband By Bertha M. Clay
43—Little Coquette Bonnie By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
45—A Yale Man By Robert Lee Tyler
46—Off with the Old Love By Mrs. M. V. Victor
47—The Colonel by Brevet By St George Rathborne
48—Another Man’s Wife By Bertha M. Clay
49—None But the Brave By Robert Lee Tyler
50—Her Ransom By Charles Garvice
(Paid For)
51—The Price He Paid By E. Werner
52—Woman Against Woman By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
54—Cleopatra By Victorien Sardou
56—The Dispatch Bearer By Warren Edwards
58—Major Matterson of Kentucky By St. George Rathborne
59—Gladys Greye By Bertha M. Clay
61—La Tosca By Victorien Sardou
62—Stella Stirling By Julia Edwards
63—Lawyer Bell from Boston By Robert Lee Tyler
64—Dora Tenney By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
65—Won by the Sword By J. Perkins Tracy
67—Gismonda By Victorien Sardou
68—The Little Cuban Rebel By Edna Winfield
69—His Perfect Trust By Bertha M. Clay
70—Sydney By Charles Garvice
(A Wilful Young Woman)
71—The Spider’s Web By St. George Rathborne
72—Wilful Winnie By Harriet Sherburne
73—The Marquis By Charles Garvice
74—The Cotton King By Sutton Vane
ON THE WINGS OF FATE
BY
EFFIE ADELAIDE ROWLANDS
AUTHOR OF
“Love’s Cruel Whim,” “One Man’s Evil,” “Woman Against Woman,”
“Little Kit,” “With Heart So True,” etc.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1904
By STREET & SMITH
On the Wings of Fate
The Best of Everything!
Our experience with the American reading public has taught us that
it expects better reading than readers of any other nationality.
Why? Because Americans, as a rule, are better educated and more
intelligent. We make it a point to cater to all classes of readers
with our paper-covered novels. If a man likes adventure or detective
stories, he can find more and better ones in the S. & S. novel list
than he can among the cloth books. If a woman wants love, society, or
mystery stories, the S. & S. catalogue again contains just what she
wants at the lowest possible price. If a boy wants up-to-date baseball,
athletic, or treasure-hunt stories, he cannot get anything that will
please him so much as the books in the MEDAL and NEW MEDAL LIBRARIES,
no matter how much he has to spend for his reading matter.
Here are a few suggestions:
BOOKS FOR MEN.
The Nick Carter stories in the NEW MAGNET LIBRARY.
The Howard W. Erwin stories in the FAR WEST LIBRARY.
The William Wallace Cook stories in the NEW FICTION LIBRARY.
The Dumas stories in the SELECT LIBRARY.
BOOKS FOR WOMEN.
The Mrs. Georgie Sheldon stories in the NEW EAGLE SERIES.
The Charles Garvice stories in the NEW EAGLE SERIES.
The Bertha Clay stories in the BERTHA CLAY LIBRARY.
The Southworth stories in the SOUTHWORTH LIBRARY.
The Mrs. Mary J. Holmes stories in the EAGLE and SELECT LIBRARIES.
BOOKS FOR BOYS.
The Burt L. Standish stories in the NEW MEDAL LIBRARY.
The Horatio Alger stories in the MEDAL and NEW MEDAL LIBRARIES.
The Oliver Optic stories in the MEDAL and NEW MEDAL LIBRARIES.
The Edward C. Taylor stories in the NEW MEDAL LIBRARY.
Send for our complete catalogue and look these stories up. It will pay
you.
STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_, NEW YORK
Why Take a Chance?
Most everybody thinks that the public library is a mighty fine
institution—teaches people to read, and all that. Well, so it does,
but does any one ever think of the great risk that a person, who takes
a book out of a public library, runs of catching some contagious
disease?
Every time a bacteriological examination is made of the public-library
book, germs of every known disease are found among its pages. Probably,
from your own experience, you know that lots of people never think of
taking a book from the public library, until some one in their family
is sick and wants something to read.
As records prove that ninety per cent of the demand for books at the
public libraries is for works of fiction, it strikes us that the
reading public would do better to patronize the S. & S. novel list
which contains hundreds of books to be found in the public libraries,
and many hundreds of others just as good and interesting.
The price of the S. & S. novels is a low one indeed to pay for
protection from disease-laden literature. Why run the risk, then, when
you can get a fresh, clean book for little money and thus insure your
health?
STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_
NEW YORK
ON THE WINGS OF FATE.
CHAPTER I.
“’TWAS ON A MONDAY MORNING.”
Fractiousness was the keynote of the mental atmosphere in a certain
substantial-looking South Kensington house on a certain Monday morning.
Not that this bad-tempered atmosphere was peculiar to this one
particular Monday by no means. As a rule, every living thing in the
house, from the master down to the blind and asthmatic pug that lived
under the kitchen table, started the working week in a mood that was
detestable in an individual as well as collective sense.
And perhaps the worst offender of the lot was Mrs. Pennington.
Her hatred of Mondays had become traditional.
Seated at her well-worn writing table, surrounded by tradesmen’s books
of every size, color and description, she was simply unapproachable.
On ordinary occasions gentle-voiced and sympathetic, the advent of
Monday saw her transformed into a flushed, querulous, pugilistic
person, whose whole attitude denoted war and hatred toward every
washerwoman, every butcher, baker or greengrocer that ever had existed
or ever would exist. Life in the Kensington household for at least
three hours of the average Monday might be likened to the sensation of
a train that had suddenly left the rails and was bumping along with a
series of shocks, till either the steam was turned off in time or a
catastrophe occurred.
That a catastrophe never had occurred is one of those everyday marvels
with which we are hemmed about. Why, for instance, “cook”—a generic
term which covered a multitude of persons—had never turned on her
mistress and thrashed out the end of the “suet question” with fists
instead of angry impertinence, was one of those problems which Polly,
at least, had never been able to solve.
“You know,” she had said on more than one occasion to Winifred, up in
the seclusion of their bedroom, “you know it would take so little to
smash mother; she makes a lot of noise when she is cross, but she is
such a small thing, anybody could bowl her over in a minute, and there
would be an end of the argument!”
“I don’t think you ought to talk like that about mother,” Winifred said
on one of these occasions. As a matter of fact, it happened to be the
same Monday morning alluded to in the very commencement of this story.
Polly, who was making out her washing list, writing the items down with
savage dabs to get some response from a pencil with a broken lead,
asked in a curt sort of way:
“Why not?”
“It is not respectful,” Winifred explained.
“Then,” said Polly, looking up with a defiant, not to say joyous, gleam
in her eyes, “it is the one thing that I shall continue to say! I must
have a vent somewhere!” she finished, as she returned to the washing
list and the impotent pencil.
After a moment of silent reproach from Winifred, Polly broke forth into
speech again.
“Oh, how I hate Mondays! How I loathe Mondays! How I wish one could
skip every Monday that ever comes!”
“Tuesdays would be just the same,” said Winifred, with her superior
smile.
“There ought to be no beginning to the week at all. What good does it
serve? Why can’t we run straight along in one unbroken line, I should
like to know? There must be something vicious about a Monday. Look what
a bad effect it has on all of us.”
It was now Winifred’s turn.
“I do wish, Polly,” she said, sharply, “that you would come and do your
share of the room instead of talking such a lot of rubbish!”
Polly subsided.
“I am coming,” she said, in her meekest way; and after pinning the
washing list to the compact brown holland bundle, she put it outside
the door, and forthwith equipped herself with duster and feather
brush, and set to work to make her corner of the large room as neat as
Winifred’s.
This was not altogether feasible, since Winifred’s idea of neatness and
hers did not quite coincide. For instance, every Monday, for the last
year, at least, Polly had registered a vow that she would set herself
the task of mending the old rug by her bedside before another week came
round, but the days slipped by somehow, and the rug’s shabbiness became
more and more enforced; it was, in fact, as shabby as it could be.
Polly gazed at it this morning with a touch of shame.
“I think I will do it now. I can darn it with some of that crewel wool,
and I shall at least preserve my neck, if not the original pattern.”
With Polly, sudden suggestions meant operations. She sat down on the
floor cross-legged, and pulled the once valuable rug on her knees.
“I shall ask father to give me a new one for my Christmas present,”
Polly observed, as she sorted out the nearest shade in her wools to
cover over the jagged hole.
Winifred rubbed at her few silver ornaments a moment or two in silence.
“If I were you, I don’t think I would say much about a Christmas
present this year,” she observed, after a little while, as she made the
top of her old salts bottle gleam like a mirror beneath her industrious
leather.
Polly looked up.
When Polly looked upward with her strange gray-green eyes she had the
most bewitching air in the world.
“Why not?” she queried, promptly. “We always do have a present at
Christmas.”
“This Christmas,” Winifred remarked, sententiously, “will not be like
other Christmases.”
Polly frowned and threaded her needle.
“Don’t be mysterious, for goodness sake!” she cried; “you do so love
putting on creepy, crawly sort of ways, Winnie.”
Winifred set all her little treasures in their proper places;
everything looked spotless and at its best.
“Father has lost a lot of money this year. I heard mother and Aunt
Nellie talking together the other afternoon, and I found out then the
meaning of lots of things that have puzzled us lately. We are living
beyond our income,” Winifred said, rather grandly—she said it as if
she were making a notable statement. “We only stay on here because
father has a long lease of the house, and we should have to pay the
rent whether we lived here or not. Besides, mother told Christina that
she hoped things would mend in the next year, and she doesn’t want to
make any big change till Chrissie is married.”
Polly darned on laboriously.
The rug was dusty and the floor was hard, and something, she did not
know what, seemed to be pressing very tightly on her heart. She was
sorry, in a vague sort of way, that she should have been so cross, and
that she should have desired her father to give her a Christmas present.
She was not very old or learned as yet, but she had a very deep font of
sympathy in her fresh young heart, and Winifred’s clear, matter-of-fact
statement seemed to make a claim upon that sympathy for some reason or
other.
She recalled her father’s face as he had kissed them good-by that
morning, before rushing off to the city, after a hurried breakfast, and
what she had called “Monday grumps,” took another form now.
“You mustn’t tell Chrissie that I heard anything, Polly,” Winifred
said, suddenly. “Mother told Aunt Nellie she particularly did not want
Chrissie to be worried.”
“I’m not a sneak,” was Polly’s retort.
She was thinking little things over in her mind. There had been a great
difference of late in her home, things had been wanted very badly, and
had remained wanting. Two or three of the maids had been sent away. The
lessons she and Winifred had been taking with fashionable masters had
ceased in the autumn, and though more studies were spoken of, they were
not begun yet.
Oh, yes, there had been many changes in the current of their life
this past year. The only thing that had remained unchanged, Polly
determined, had been the characteristics of the detestable Monday
mornings with the dusting, and arranging and the elements of anger and
dissatisfaction throughout the house.
And for this fact, Polly in her thinking, felt as if she had lighted on
a truth, too.
Who knew how much care and real trouble had lain closed up in those
tradesmen’s books for her poor little mother! trouble that had to
be faced and met each Monday morning? How could she tell now, with
Winifred’s neat little story of their poverty ringing in her ears, what
a weight of anxiety might not have underlain those wordy arguments her
mother had fought out with a succession of cooks?
Polly darned her rug slowly, while Winifred having finished her tasks
sat down in her own prim fashion in her own prim armchair and continued
her discourse.
“I think, too, that father has had to pay a lot of money for Harold
this year. I must say I have always thought it silly of father to send
Harold abroad. Boys always do get money spent on them so freely.”
There was a decided touch of prettiness about Winifred Pennington as
she sat with her small, white hands—Winifred wore gloves to save her
hands on all occasions—folded demurely together on her lap, and her
wealth of hair—maybe of a tone that was a trifle colorless—arranged
about her little head in countless plaits, a custom that is out of
fashion nowadays, yet that suited her. Winifred’s eyes were gray,
like Polly’s, but how unlike! and her features were as regular as her
natural instincts.
“Harold is a duck,” Polly interposed, warmly.
“He is the kind of duck that costs!” was Winifred’s quiet rejoinder.
She gave a little sigh that had something of impatience in it.
“Chrissie will have a good time this year, at any rate.”
Polly drew the last thread of her darning together with a little jerk,
and spread the rug on the floor.
“I wish I knew something more about this man she is going to marry!
Just fancy, Winnie, we none of us have seen him yet, and Chrissie is to
be his wife in a few months. It doesn’t seem quite right somehow.”
Winifred’s eyebrows went up a little.
“I don’t think it matters very much our not having seen him. All that
does matter is, that he is Sir Mark Wentworth, and that Chrissie will
be very rich and very happy.”
Polly stood up and surveyed her workmanship.
She was not the best darner in the world, and the rug had rather a
drawn-up look where the yawning rent had been, nevertheless Polly gazed
at it complacently—it was a feat to have accomplished it at all. Then
she shook off the bits of thread from her gown and went to work to
finish up her corner.
It aggravated her to see Winifred sitting there so calmly, and the row
of little gleaming silver things irritated her still more.
Polly had her own share of such ornaments. A photograph frame that
held her mother’s picture, a queer small spoon some one had given her
on her last birthday, a piece of old Dutch silver, fashioned to hold
holy water and a broad silver belt buckle, all of which were carefully
displayed on her little shelf, but all of which were just as black and
tarnished as Winifred’s possessions were brilliant and clean.
She had her row of family portraits, too, which were very dear to her.
She was wicked enough to confess to herself she was far fonder of
Winifred’s picture than she was of Winifred herself.
“That is because I have to live with her, I suppose, and because
she does make such a fuss about being clean and tidy. I like dust,
plenty of it—nice, thick, black, London dust!” she now and then said,
pugnaciously, to herself.
Mrs. Pennington had never trained her girls to be accustomed to the
luxury of a maid. She was old-fashioned in her educational theories,
and considered a certain amount of housework absolutely necessary for
the welfare of her daughters. Hence every morning, Polly and Winifred
had to make their own beds, and dust their room, and every Monday they
were expected to turn it out thoroughly, and make it as clean as a new
pin.
Downstairs in the drawing room Christina had to dust all the china, and
to keep the many valuable ornaments in good order, and once a week each
girl was sent down for an hour’s study with cook.
The mother, like an industrious bee, hovered over all the arrangements
of her house, and her hand was always ready to make a rough corner
smooth.
On this particular morning even her clever, deft hands found the rough
corner a little too rough to be manipulated.
The usual scenes in the study, the usual fights over the household
books had ended, but the trouble was not finished with them. Christina,
when she went to seek her mother at the customary hour, found her
sitting very still in her chair, her pale, worn, interesting face
supported by her hand, which overshadowed her eyes, but could not hide
from her daughter the fact that she had been crying.
“Mother, why would you not let me do the books for you? You
worry yourself far too much.” Chrissie’s voice was very like
Winifred’s—even, musical, rather cold, and there was a strong
resemblance between them.
The elder girl was, however, far more attractive; in fact, when Polly
declared her eldest sister to be beautiful, she was not far wrong,
for beautiful Christina Pennington was, in a delicate, classical way.
Her features were almost perfect, her eyes of a wonderful shade of
dark-blue, she had the rarest skin, and her figure, though very slight,
was well proportioned.
Mrs. Pennington roused herself hurriedly as her daughter spoke.
“I am all right now, Chrissie, dear. I made myself very angry with
cook; but she is really too impertinent. I—I am afraid she will have
to go.” Mrs. Pennington said this half nervously.
“I wanted you to send her away long ago, dear,” Christina said,
quietly; “and if she has been rude to you to-day, I think she ought to
go at once.”
Mrs. Pennington colored painfully.
“I will give her proper notice next week,” was her answer. She moved
the papers nervously on her desk; there was something most pathetic in
the look of her small, thin fingers. “Are you going out, my darling?”
she asked, looking up hurriedly.
“I came to know if you would come with me, mother? I heard from
Sunstead this morning. Mark wants me to go to his grandmother for
Christmas, and I must get at least two new frocks—one for evening, and
the other for everyday wear.”
“Shall you go to Celeste as usual?” Mrs. Pennington asked. She made a
big endeavor to speak lightly, but any person of keen perception would
have read the heaviness, the perplexity that lay in her voice.
Christina paused.
“I think so. She cuts so well, and she is not more expensive than
anyone else. Grannie’s check came to me this morning, happily, and it
will just see me comfortably through this visit. I am sorry to leave
you, mother, dear, but I suppose I must go, must I not?”
When Christina put a little pleading into her sweetly toned voice she
was quite irresistible, to her mother at least.
“Oh, my dear, of course you must go. It is only right and proper that
you should be at Sunstead as often as possible, since it is to be your
future home. We—we shall miss you, that you know only too well,” Mrs.
Pennington said, with a faint smile breaking the troubled look on her
face, “but we must not be selfish.”
Christina kissed her mother in a pathetic little way.
“Do come out, dear,” she said. “The air will do you good, and I want
your advice with Celeste. No one has such taste as you.”
Mrs. Pennington held her beautiful daughter in her arms a long moment,
and then broke into words and laughter as she hurried from the room.
“We have just an hour and a half before luncheon. Are the girls coming
too, Chrissie?”
Chrissie shook her head.
“Winnie must practice, and it is Polly’s day to attend to the plants in
the conservatory,” she said, very precisely. She exercised a certain
control over her sisters.
She moved upstairs gracefully to her own room, and Mrs. Pennington
followed more slowly.
Each step she took seemed to be weighed as with lead, and once she
stopped and pressed both her hands on her heart before she could go on.
Polly, who had finished cleaning her silver, was on her way to the
conservatory—already Winifred’s clear, neat scales were running up and
down the piano with the perfection of an automaton—when she met her
mother at the top of the stairs.
To pop down the watering can and fold her mother in her arms was the
work of an instant.
“You duck!” she said, kissing the small, dear, worn face, “do you know
how much I love you? Have you the least idea how sweet you are, you
lamb and dove?”
Mrs. Pennington nestled almost like a child in those clinging young
arms.
“Polly, you have no respect for me,” she said, and although she spoke
in her usual tone, Polly detected a difference. It was perhaps due to
the train of thought that Winifred’s chance words had awakened in the
girl’s mind that she heard that faint difference in her mother’s voice.
“Mums!” she said, wistfully, “may I come and help you dress? You are
going out, I know.”
“I can manage by myself, Polly, and you have a lot of work to do in the
conservatory, my pet. Chrissie and I are going to her dressmaker; she
has to have some new frocks, as she is going to spend Christmas with
Sir Mark and his mother.”
Polly gave vent to a deep exclamation of disappointment.
“Oh! mother,” she said, “I thought Chrissie would be sure to be with us
this Christmas; it is the last she will spend with us in a proper way,”
she finished, quaintly.
She would have said more, but something urged her not to press the
matter to-day.
She picked up her watering can and went slowly to the conservatory.
Winifred had left her scales for her exercises, and Polly stopped to
listen. She and Winifred played the same exercises, but Polly played
them differently.
“Why do people grow up and get married?” she asked herself. “Chrissie
belongs to us and yet that nasty Mark Wentworth comes and steals
her away. I hate him! I think he might have let her be with us for
Christmas. I am sure dear little mother feels it awfully, but she is
such a sweet thing she never complains. She looks very tired to-day,”
Polly mused on, as she drew a very large pair of gardening gloves over
her hands and prepared to do her duty among the plants.
The conservatory, like everything else in the house, had a shabby
and rather dull appearance. Fresh plants were wanted and some of the
windows were cracked.
“I wonder if what Winnie told me just now is true; if we are going to
be very poor?” Polly said to herself.
She looked about her to-day with new eyes, and a certain seriousness
stole into her brown, mischievous face.
She was quite a contrast to her sisters, both of whom resembled their
mother. Polly, on the other hand, was neither like her father nor her
mother. When this was remarked upon she got very angry.
“I hark back,” she would observe. “Goodness knows who I am like. I
don’t think it matters much; looks are not everything, are they?”
For silly little Polly imagined that because she inherited neither her
father’s good looks, nor her mother’s once undoubted beauty, she must
perforce be exceedingly plain. She was, on the contrary, exceedingly
pretty, a fact that was making itself patent to more than one person by
slow degrees.
She was a very young girl, a real old-fashioned young lady, with her
head crammed with romantic ideas and any amount of illusions.
She loved sweets and spent all her modest pocket money on chocolate
caramels and Turkish delight. Her age was seventeen and a half, and
she looked at least two years younger than that, very unlike Winifred,
whose nineteen summers might easily have passed for twenty-five.
Polly’s hair was, again, a contrast to her sisters’. Winifred had
masses of soft dun-colored hair, Christina a wealth of warm brown
tresses. Polly’s hair was uncompromisingly dark, hair that was never
very tidy, but never needed tongs or curling paper, since it had a
trick of framing itself about her small head in a most seductively
caressing manner.
She called her nose a disgrace to her family. It was a nondescript
nose, not quite straight, with a wonderful amount of humor in the cut
of the nostrils. It would have been impossible to imagine any other
nose to match with those queer, lovely eyes of hers, eyes which had the
strangest and quickest gradations of color in them, and which, like
their prototype, the sea, could in an instant flash green and then grow
wonderfully blue.
“Cat’s eyes,” Winnie called them, but they had nothing feline, or
cunning, or shifty in their expression. They were too clear, too
joyous, too full of life and the gladness of life, to have any of the
subtlety, the blind sort of beauty one sees in a cat.
From the conservatory Polly had a good view of all that came and
went on the stairs, and an hour or so after her mother, looking wan
and shadowy but still attractive, followed by Chrissie, a vision of
smartness and beauty, had passed down the stairs, Polly became aware
that Jane, the parlormaid, was having an altercation with somebody at
the front door.
Polly’s pulses beat a little nervously. She was beginning to know the
significance of troublesome callers by degrees, and she turned with a
start as Jane, evidently flushed and beaten, came running up the stairs.
“There’s a gentleman, Miss Polly, what’s asking for master or mistress,
and he won’t be said nay. I have told him they ain’t neither of them at
home, but he won’t believe me, and he won’t go away.”
Polly hesitated a moment. Her heart was beating very quickly, she did
not know why, and she felt a little frightened. But she saw something
had to be done. She drew off her gloves and her big apron.
“Show the gentleman into the dining room. I will come and speak to him,
Jane.”
Giving her gown a tweak, and her hair two or three futile pats, Polly
went slowly down the stairs.
She was not sure if she were doing right or wrong, but most certainly,
if the man would not go away at Jane’s desire, then he must go away at
her command.
Jane met her at the foot of the stairs.
“He’s in the dining room, miss,” she said, still hot and angry.
Polly walked in her stateliest way into the dining room.
A young man, tall, and of a very big build, was standing on the
hearthrug with his back to the fire. He was frowning darkly, and was
evidently in a very bad temper.
“Looks as if he had been born in a hurry on a Monday!” was impertinent
Polly’s quick summing up to herself.
She shut the door with a click and advanced into the room.
The young man, who had been regarding his boots, now lifted his eyes
and regarded her, and for the space of two or three seconds his
exceedingly angry eyes gazed into the girl’s defiant ones while silence
reigned.
And thus it was that Valentine Ambleton met pretty Polly Pennington for
the first time.