It was still early on the following morning that Dare, forgetting, as we
have seen, his promise to Charles, arrived at Slumberleigh Rectory--so
early that Mrs. Alwynn was still ordering dinner, or, in other words,
was dashing from larder to scullery, from kitchen to dairy, with her
usual energy. He was shown into the empty drawing-room, where, after
pacing up and down, he was reduced to the society of a photograph album,
which, in his present excited condition, could do little to soothe the
tumult of his mind. Not that any discredit should be thrown on Mrs.
Alwynn's album, a gorgeous concern with a golden "Fanny" embossed on it,
which afforded her infinite satisfaction, inside which her friends'
portraits appeared to the greatest advantage, surrounded by birds and
nests and blossoms of the most vivid and life-like coloring. Mr. Alwynn
was encompassed on every side by kingfishers and elaborate bone nests,
while Ruth's clear-cut face looked out from among long-tailed tomtits,
arranged one on each side of a nest crowded with eggs, on which a strong
light had been thrown.
Dare was still looking at Ruth's photograph, when Mr. Alwynn came in.
"Do you wish to speak to Ruth?" he asked, gravely.
"Now, at once." Dare was surprised that Mr. Alwynn, with whom he had
been so open, should be so cold and unsympathetic in manner. The
alteration and alienation of friends is certainly one of the saddest and
most inexplicable experiences of this vale of tears.
"You will find her in the study," continued Mr. Alwynn. "She is
expecting you. I have told her nothing, according to your wish. I hope
you will explain everything to her in full, that you will keep nothing
back."
"I will explain," said Dare; and he went, trembling with excitement,
into the study. Fired by Charles's example, he had made a sublime
resolve as he skimmed across the fields, made it in a hurry, in a moment
of ecstasy, as all his resolutions were made. He felt he had never acted
such a noble part before. He only feared the agitation of the moment
might prevent him doing himself justice.
Ruth rose as he came in, but did not speak. A swift spasm passed over
her face, leaving it very stern, very fixed, as he had never seen it, as
he had never thought of seeing it. An overwhelming suspense burned in
the dark, lustreless eyes which met his own. He felt awed.
"Well?" she said, pressing her hands together, and speaking in a low
voice.
"Ruth," said Dare, solemnly, laying his outspread hand upon his breast
and then extending it in the air, "I am free."
Ruth's eyes watched him like one in torture.
"How?" she said, speaking with difficulty. "You said you were free
before."
"Ah!" replied Dare, raising his forefinger, "I said so, but it was an
error. I go to Vandon, and she will not go away. I go to London to my
lawyer, and he says she is my wife."
"You told me she was not."
"It was an error," repeated Dare. "I had formerly been a husband to her,
but we had been divorced; it was finished, wound up, and I thought she
was no more my wife. There is in the English law something extraordinary
which I do not comprehend, which makes an American divorce to remain a
marriage in England."
"Go on," said Ruth, shading her eyes with her hand.
"I come back to Vandon," continued Dare, in a suppressed voice, "I come
back overwhelmed, broken down, crushed under feet; and then,"--he was
becoming dramatic, he felt the fire kindling--"I meet a friend, a noble
heart, I confide in him. I tell all to Sir Charles Danvers,"--Ruth's
hand was trembling--"and last night he finds out by a chance that she
was not a true widow when I marry her, that her first husband was yet
alive, that I am free. This morning he tells me all, and I am here."
Ruth pressed her hands before her face, and fairly burst into tears.
He looked at her in astonishment. He was surprised that she had any
feelings. Never having shown them to the public in general, like
himself, he had supposed she was entirely devoid of them. She now
appeared quite _émue_. She was sobbing passionately. Tears came into his
own eyes as he watched her, and then a light dawned upon him for the
second time that day. Those tears were not for him. He folded his arms
and waited. How suggestive in itself is a noble attitude!
After a few minutes Ruth overcame her tears with a great effort, and,
raising her head, looked at him, as if she expected him to speak. The
suspense was gone out of her dimmed eyes, the tension of her face was
relaxed.
"I am free," repeated Dare, "and I have your promise that if I am free
you will still marry me."
Ruth looked up with a pained but resolute expression, and she would have
spoken if he had not stopped her by a gesture.
"I have your promise," he repeated. "I tell my friend, Sir Charles
Danvers, I have it. He also loves. He does not tell me so; he is not
open with me, as I with him, but I see his heart. And yet--figure to
yourself--he has but to keep silence, and I must go away, I must give up
all. I am still married--_Ou!_--while he--But he is noble, he is
sublime. He sacrifices love on the altar of honor, of truth. He tells
all to me, his rival. He shows me I am free. He thinks I do not know his
heart. But it is not only he who can be noble." (Dare smote himself upon
the breast.) "I also can lay my heart upon the altar. Ruth,"--with great
solemnity--"do you love him even as he loves you?"
There was a moment's pause.
"I do," she said, firmly, "with my whole heart."
"I knew it. I divined it. I sacrifice myself. I give you back your
promise. I say farewell, and voyage in the distance. I return no more to
Vandon. There is no longer a home for me in England. I leave only behind
with you the poor heart you have possessed so long!"
Dare was so much affected by the beauty of this last sentence that he
could say no more, but even at that moment, as he glanced at Ruth to see
what effect his eloquence had upon her, she looked so pallid and thin
(her beauty was so entirely eclipsed) that the sacrifice did not seem
quite so overwhelming, after all.
She struggled to speak, but words failed her.
He took her hands and kissed them, pressed them to his heart (it was a
pity there was no one there to see), endeavored to say something more,
and then rushed out of the room.
She stood like one stunned after he had left her. She saw him a moment
later cross the garden, and flee away across the fields. She knew she
had seen that gray figure and jaunty gray hat for the last time; but she
hardly thought of him. She felt she might be sorry for him presently,
but not now.
The suspense was over. The sense of relief was too overwhelming to admit
of any other feeling at first. She dropped on her knees beside the
writing-table, and locked her hands together.
"_He told_," she whispered to herself. "Thank God! Thank God!"
Two happy tears dropped onto Mr. Alwynn's old leather blotting-book,
that worn cradle of many sermons.
Was this the same world? Was this the same sun which was shining in upon
her? What new songs were the birds practising outside? A strange
wonderful joy seemed to pervade the very air she breathed, to flood her
inmost soul. She had faced her troubles fairly well, but at this new
great happiness she did not dare to look; and with a sudden involuntary
gesture she hid her face in her hands.
It would be rash to speculate too deeply on the nature of Dare's
reflections as he hurried back to Atherstone; but perhaps, under the
very real pang of parting with Ruth, he was sustained by a sense of the
magnanimity of what, had he put it into words, he would have called his
attitude, and possibly also by a lurking conviction, which had assisted
his determination to resign her that life at Vandon, after the episode
of the American wife's arrival, would be a social impossibility,
especially to one anxious and suited to shine in society. Be that how it
may, whatever had happened to influence him most of the chance emotion
of the moment, it would be tolerably certain that in a few hours he
would be sorry for what he had done. He was still, however, in a state
of mental exaltation when he reached Atherstone, and began fumbling
nervously with the garden-gate. Charles, who had been stalking up and
down the bowling-green, went slowly towards him.
"What on earth do you mean by going off in that way?" he asked, coldly.
"Ah!" said Dare, perceiving him, "and she--the--is she gone?"
"Yes, half an hour ago. Your dog-cart has come back from taking her to
the station, and is here now."
Dare nodded his head several times, and stood looking at him.
"I have been to Slumberleigh," he said.
"Yes, contrary to agreement."
"My friend," Dare said, seizing the friend's limp, unresponsive hand and
pressing it, "I know now why you keep silence last night. I reason with
myself. I see you love her. Do not turn away. I have seen her. I have
given her back her promise. I give her up to you whom she loves; and
now--I go away, not to return."
And then, in the full view of the Atherstone windows, of the butler, and
of the dog-cart at the front door, Dare embraced him, kissing the
blushing and disconcerted Charles on both cheeks. Then, in a moment,
before the latter had recovered his self-possession, Dare had darted to
the dog-cart, and was driving away.
Charles looked after him in mixed annoyance and astonishment, until he
noticed the butler's eye upon him, when he hastily retreated, with a
heightened complexion, to the shrubberies.
CONCLUSION.
It was the last day of October, about a week after a certain very quiet
little funeral had taken place in the D---- Cemetery. The death of
Raymond Deyncourt had appeared in the papers a day or two afterwards,
without mention of date or place, and it was generally supposed that it
had taken place some considerable time previously, without the knowledge
of his friends.
Charles had been sitting for a long time with Mr. Alwynn, and after he
left the rectory he took the path over the fields in the direction of
the Slumberleigh woods.
The low sun was shining redly through a golden haze, was sending long
burning shafts across the glade where Charles was pacing. He sat down at
last upon a fallen tree to wait for one who should presently come by
that way.
It was a still, clear afternoon, with a solemn stillness that speaks of
coming change. Winter was at hand, and the woods were transfigured with
a passing glory, like the faces of those who depart in peace when death
draws nigh.
Far and wide in the forest the bracken was all aflame--aflame beneath
the glowing trees. The great beeches had turned to bronze and ruddy
gold, and had strewed the path with carpets glorious and rare, which the
first wind would sweep away. Upon the limes the amber leaves still hung,
faint yet loath to go, but the horse-chestnut had already dropped its
garment of green and yellow at its feet.
A young robin was singing at intervals in the silence, telling how the
secrets of the nests had been laid bare, singing a requiem on the dying
leaves and the widowed branches, a song new to him, but with the old
plaintive rapture in it that his fathers had been taught before him
since the world began.
* * * * *
She came towards him down the yellow glade through the sunshine and the
shadow, with a spray of briony in her hand. Neither spoke. She put her
hands into the hands that were held out for them, and their eyes met,
grave and steadfast, with the light in them of an unalterable love. So
long they had looked at each other across a gulf. So long they had stood
apart. And now, at last--at last--they were together. He drew her close
and closer yet. They had no words. There was no need of words. And in
the silence of the hushed woods, and in the silence of a joy too deep
for speech, the robin's song came sweet and sad.
"Charles!"
"Ruth!"
"I should like to tell you something."
"And I should like to hear it."
"I know what Raymond told you to conceal. I went to him just after you
did. We passed you coming back. He did not know me at first. He thought
I was you, and he kept repeating that you must keep your own counsel,
and that, unless you showed Mr. Dare's marriage was illegal, he would
never find it out. At last, when he suddenly recognized me, he seemed
horror-struck, and the doctor came in and sent me away."
Charles knew now why Raymond had sent for him the second time.
There was a long pause.
"Ruth, did you think I should tell?"
"I hoped and prayed you would, but I knew it would be hard, because I do
believe you actually thought at the time I should still consider it my
duty to marry Mr. Dare. I never should have done such a thing after what
had happened. I was just going to tell him so when he began to give me
up, and it evidently gave him so much pleasure to renounce me nobly in
your favor that I let him have it his own way, as the result was the
same. My great dread, until he came, was that you had not spoken. I had
been expecting him all the previous evening. Oh, Charles, Charles! I
waited and watched for his coming as I had never done before. Your
silence was the only thing I feared, because it was the only thing that
could have come between us."
"God forgive me! I meant at first to say nothing."
"Only at first," said Ruth, gently; and they walked on in silence.
The sun had set. A slender moon had climbed unnoticed into the southern
sky amid the shafts of paling fire which stretched out across the whole
heaven from the burning fiery furnace in the west. Across the gray dim
fields voices were calling the cattle home.
Charles spoke again at last in his usual tone.
"You quite understand, Ruth, though I have not mentioned it so far, that
you are engaged to marry me?"
"I do. I will make a note of it if you wish."
"It is unnecessary. I shall be happy, when I am at leisure to remind you
myself. Indeed, I may say I shall make a point of doing so. There does
not happen to be any one else whom you feel it would be your duty to
marry?"
"I can't think of any one at the moment. Charles, you never _could_ have
believed I would marry _him_, after all?"
"Indeed, I did believe it. Don't I know the stubbornness of your heart?
You see, you are but young, and I make excuses for you; but, after you
have been the object of my special and judicious training for a few
years, I quite hope your judgment may improve considerably."
"I trust it will, as I see from your remarks--it will certainly be all
we shall have to guide us both."
* * * * *
POSTSCRIPT.--Lady Mary would not allow even Providence any of the credit
of Charles's engagement; she claimed the whole herself. She called
Evelyn to witness that from the first it had been her work entirely. She
only allowed Charles himself a very secondary part in the great event,
to which she was apt to point in later years as the crowning work of a
life devoted--under Church direction--to the temporal and spiritual
welfare of her fellow-creatures; and Charles avers that a mention of it
in the long list of her virtues will some day adorn the tombstone which
she has long since ordered to be in readiness.
Molly was disconsolate for many days, but work, that panacea of grief,
came to the rescue, and it was not long before she was secretly and
busily engaged on a large kettle-holder, with kettle and motto entwined,
for Charles's exclusive use, without which she had been led to
understand his establishment would be incomplete. When this work of art
was finished her feelings had become so far modified towards Ruth that
she consented to begin another very small and inferior one--merely a
kettle on a red ground--for that interloper, but whether it was ever
presented is not on record.
* * * * *
Vandon is to let. The grass has grown up again through the niches of the
stone steps. The place looks wild and deserted. Mr. Alwynn comes
sometimes, and looks up at its shuttered windows and trailing, neglected
ivy, but not often, for it gives him a strange pang at the heart. And as
he goes home the people come out of the dilapidated cottages, and ask
wistfully when the new squire is coming back.
But Mr. Alwynn does not know.
THE END.
* * * * *
TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS CORRECTED
The following typographical errors in the text were corrected as
detailed here.
In the text: " ... Mrs. Alwynn had the delight of taking her completely
..." the word "competely" was corrected to "completely."
In the text: "You evidently imagine that I have gone in for the
fashionable creed of the young man" the word "fashionble" was corrected
to "fashionable."
In the text: "Molly, tired of her castles, suggested that she might sit
on his knee," the word "hnee" was corrected to "knee."
In the text: " ... Molly has formed a habit of expressing herself with
unnecessary freedom." the word "Mary" was changed to "Molly."
In the text: " ... as it reached the steps a shrill voice suddenly
called" the word "suddedly" was corrected to "suddenly."
In the text: "I considered her to be a pink-and-white nonentity... " the
word "nonenity" was corrected to "nonentity."
In the text: " ... pressing invitation to to come down... " the word
"to" is repeated and one instance was removed.
Misspelt proper names were also corrected: "Thurshy" was corrected to
"Thursby," "Alywnn" was corrected to "Alwynn," and "Eveyln" was
corrected to "Evelyn."
Some punctuation was also regularized.
* * * * *
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TWO YEARS IN THE FRENCH WEST INDIES. By LAFCADIO HEARN. pp. 517.
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THE CAREER OF A NIHILIST. A Novel. 16mo, Cloth, 75 cents.
THE RUSSIAN PEASANTRY: Their Agrarian Condition, Social Life, and
Religion. 16mo, Cloth, $1 25.
All thinking and disinterested people for whom Russia has an interest
should read this volume not only for Russia's sake, but for our
own.--_N.Y. Times._
An absorbingly interesting volume.... Stepniak deserves the gratitude of
his country and all mankind for painting Russian life as it is, and
pointing out a practicable solution of its worst distresses.--_Literary
World_, Boston.
Altogether Stepniak's best book.--_St. James's Gazette_, London.
A deeply interesting study of a subject full of strange new
elements.--_N.Y. Tribune._
For the student of Russia the book is invaluable. It contains more
information, and gives us a better insight into the economic and
domestic conditions of life among the peasants, and in Russia generally,
than in any other book we know.--_The Academy_, London.
RUSSIA UNDER THE TZARS. Illustrated. 4to, Paper, 20 cents.
The book is very bold and very brilliant; it rests very largely on the
author's personal experience, and no student of Russia should leave it
unread or unnoticed.--_Boston Beacon._
A graphic and startling picture of the despotism that rules the
Muscovite nation, drawn by the pen of one of the ablest and most
pronounced Nihilists of the day.--_Chicago Journal._
THE RUSSIAN STORM-CLOUD; or, Russia in Her Relation to Neighboring
Countries. 4to, Paper, 20 cts.
The author writes with a calmness and precision not generally associated
with the class of revolutionists to which he belongs.--_N.Y. Sun._
Stepniak gives a comprehensive view of the matter which he discusses,
and his work is valuable as furnishing "the true inwardness" of affairs
in the empire of the Tzar.--_Christian Advocate_, Cincinnati.
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
_Any of the above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of
the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._
* * * * *
SEBASTOPOL.
By Count LEO TOLSTOÏ. Translated by F.D. MILLET from the French (_Scenes
du Siége de Sebastopol_). With Introduction by W.D. HOWELLS. With
Portrait. 16mo, Cloth, 75 cents.
In his Sebastopol sketches Tolstoï is at his best, and perhaps no more
striking example of his manner and form can be found.--_N.Y. Tribune._
There is much strong writing in the book; indeed, it is strength itself,
and there is much tenderness as well.--_Boston Traveller._
Its workmanship is superb, and morally its influence should be
immense.--_Boston Herald._
It carries us from the shams of society to the realities of war, and
sets before us with a graphic power and minuteness the inner life of
that great struggle in which Count Tolstoï took part.... A thrilling
tale of besieged Sebastopol. All is intensely real, intensely life-like,
and doubly striking from its very simplicity. We have before our eyes
war as it really is.--_N.Y. Times._
The various incidents of the siege which he selects in order to present
it in its different aspects form a graphic whole which can never be
forgotten by any one who has once read it, and it must be read to be
appreciated.--_Nation_, N.Y.
The descriptions, it is needless to say, are masterly. No novelist has
ever before succeeded in thus depicting the emotions and utterances of
the soldier in battle.--_Boston Beacon._
A powerful appeal against warfare, written in that wonderful style which
lends life and character to the most trivial incidents he describes. It
is a fascinating book, and one of its chief merits is the introspective
art and analytical power which every page reveals.... This is the most
nervous and dramatic production of Tolstoï that has been rendered into
English.--_N.Y. Sun._
It is, undoubtedly, the most graphic and powerful of Tolstoï's works
that has been given to the American reading public.... It should be read
and pondered by Christians, philanthropists, statesmen--by every one who
can think.--_Chicago Interior._
The profound realism of the book, its native, organic strength, will
make it one of the great books of the day. Certainly the underlying, the
ever-present horrors of war have seldom been so strikingly set
forth.--_St. Louis Republican._
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
_The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United
States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._
* * * * *
By CAPT. CHARLES KING.
A WAR-TIME WOOING. Illustrated by R.F. ZOGBAUM. pp. iv., 196. Post 8vo,
Cloth, $1 00.
BETWEEN THE LINES. A Story of the War. Illustrated by GILBERT GAUL. pp.
iv., 312. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 25.
In all of Captain King's stories the author holds to lofty ideals of
manhood and womanhood, and inculcates the lessons of honor, generosity,
courage, and self-control.--_Literary World_, Boston.
The vivacity and charm which signally distinguish Captain King's pen....
He occupies a position in American literature entirely his own.... His
is the literature of honest sentiment, pure and tender.... His heroes
and his charming heroines are the product of the army, and it is
pleasant to meet, even in this intangible way, women who can break their
hearts and men who would die rather than sacrifice their honor.--_N.Y.
Press._
A romance by Captain King is always a pleasure, because he has so
complete a mastery of the subjects with which he deals.... Captain King
has few rivals in his domain.... The general tone of Captain King's
stories is highly commendable. The heroes are simple, frank, and
soldierly; the heroines are dignified and maidenly in the most
unconventional situations.--_Epoch_, N.Y.
All Captain King's stories are full of spirit and with the true ring
about them.--_Philadelphia Item._
Captain King's stories of army life are so brilliant and intense, they
have such a ring of true experience, and his characters are so life-like
and vivid that the announcement of a new one is always received with
pleasure.--_New Haven Palladium._
Captain King is a delightful story-teller.--_Washington Post._
In the delineation of war scenes Captain King's style is crisp and
vigorous, inspiring in the breast of the reader a thrill of genuine
patriotic fervor.--_Boston Commonwealth._
Captain King is almost without a rival in the field he has chosen....
His style is at once vigorous and sentimental in the best sense of that
word, so that his novels are pleasing to young men as well as young
women.--_Pittsburgh Bulletin._
It is good to think that there is at least one man who believes that all
the spirit of romance and chivalry has not yet died out of the world,
and that there are as brave and honest hearts to-day as there were in
the days of knights and paladins.--_Philadelphia Record._
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
_Either of the above works sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of
the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._
* * * * *
BY THEODORE CHILD.
DELICATE FEASTING. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $1 25.
Will be found invaluable in many a household where the mistress (or the
master himself) takes an interest in preparing the supplies that come to
the table.--_N.Y. Journal of Commerce._
Recognizing the fact that the wise man does not live to eat, but rather
eats to live, the author furnishes such rules as will enable cooks to
make what is eaten palatable and healthful. People that give dinners
will here find much assistance.--_Troy Press._
The most hard-headed cook will acknowledge the pith, pointedness, and
lucidity of Mr. Child's chapters on the chemistry of cookery, on the
methods of preparing meats or vegetables, on acetaria, soups, and
sauces; while the closing chapters on dining tables, dining-room
decoration, table service, art in eating and on being invited to dine,
have, to all who would further the amenities of civilization, a value
that needs no comment.--_Brooklyn Times._
A more sensible and delightful book of its kind would be difficult to
name.... We cannot open this entertaining volume at any page without
finding matter to instruct, or at least to invite reflection. The
aphorisms on the gastronomic art, original or gathered from the highest
authorities on the subject, are thoroughly sound.--_N.Y. Sun._
SUMMER HOLIDAYS. Travelling Notes in Europe. Post 8vo, Cloth,
Ornamental, $1 25.
A delightful book of notes of European travel.... Mr. Child is an art
critic, and takes us into the picture-galleries, but we never get any
large and painful doses of art information from this skilful and
discriminating guide. There is not a page of his book that approaches to
dull reading.--_N.Y. Sun._
Mr. Child is a shrewd observer and writer of an engaging style. He
interests the reader with abundant information, and pleases him by his
lively manner in communicating it.--_Hartford Courant._
Mr. Child is a very agreeable travelling companion, and his choice of
places for a summer ramble is excellent.... The French chapters--on
Limoges, Reims, Aix-les-Bains, and especially the voyage on French
rivers--are abundant in novelty and odd bits of interest, as well as in
beauty of scene and sympathy.--_Nation_, N.Y.
A very pleasant volume of sketches by an accomplished traveller, who
knows how to see and how to describe, and who can give real information
without wearisome detail.--_Providence Journal._
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
_The above works will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of
the United States, Canada, or Mexico, on receipt of the price._
* * * * *
BEN-HUR: A TALE OF THE CHRIST.
By LEW WALLACE. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo, Cloth, $1 50.
Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of
this romance does not often appear in works of fiction.... Some of Mr.
Wallace's writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes
described in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of
an accomplished master of style.--_N.Y. Times._
Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at
the beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and
brilliant.... We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we
witness a sea-fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman
galley, domestic interiors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the
tribes of the desert; palaces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman
youth, the houses of pious families of Israel. There is plenty of
exciting incident; everything is animated, vivid, and glowing.--_N.Y.
Tribune._
From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader's interest
will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by
all one of the greatest novels of the day.--_Boston Post._
It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and
there is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc.,
to greatly strengthen the semblance.--_Boston Commonwealth._
"Ben-Hur" is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong.
Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is
laid, and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to
realize the nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman
life at Antioch at the time of our Saviour's advent.--_Examiner_, N.Y.
It is really Scripture history of Christ's time clothed gracefully and
delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction.... Few
late works of fiction excel it in genuine ability and interest.--_N.Y.
Graphic._
One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and warm
as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic
chapters of history.--_Indianapolis Journal._
The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with unwonted
interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel and
romance.--_Boston Journal._
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK.
_The above work sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United
States or Canada, on receipt of the price._