Thucydides - "The History of the Peloponnesian War"

Charlotte M. Yonge - "The Little Duke"

Edward Stratemeyer - "Richard Dare's Venture"

John Lothrop Motley - "History of the United Netherlands, 1586"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: He Knew He Was Right

A >> Anthony Trollope >> He Knew He Was Right




And there were other troubles which fell very heavily upon the poor
governor, who had come home as it were for a holiday, and who was a man
hating work naturally, and who, from the circumstances of his life, had
never been called on to do much work. A man may govern the Mandarins
and yet live in comparative idleness. To do such governing work well a
man should have a good presence, a flow of words which should mean
nothing, an excellent temper, and a love of hospitality. With these
attributes Sir Rowley was endowed; for, though his disposition was by
nature hot, for governing purposes it had been brought by practice
under good control. He had now been summoned home through the
machinations of his dangerous old friend Colonel Osborne, in order that
he might give the results of his experience in governing before a
committee of the House of Commons. In coming to England on this
business he had thought much more of his holiday, of his wife and
children, of his daughters at home, of his allowance per day while he
was to be away from his government, and of his salary to be paid to him
entire during his absence, instead of being halved as it would be if he
were away on leave he had thought much more in coming home on these
easy and pleasant matters, than he did on the work that was to be
required from him when he arrived. And then it came to pass that he
felt himself almost injured, when the Colonial Office demanded his
presence from day to day, and when clerks bothered him with questions
as to which they expected ready replies, but in replying to which Sir
Marmaduke was by no means ready. The working men at the Colonial Office
had not quite thought that Sir Marmaduke was the most fitting man for
the job in hand. There was a certain Mr Thomas Smith at another set of
islands in quite another part of the world, who was supposed by these
working men at home to be a very paragon of a governor. If he had been
had home so said the working men no Committee of the House would have
been able to make anything of him. They might have asked him questions
week after week, and he would have answered them all fluently and would
have committed nobody. He knew all the ins and outs of governing did Mr
Thomas Smith and was a match for the sharpest Committee that ever sat
at Westminster. Poor Sir Marmaduke was a man of a very different sort;
all of which was known by the working men; but the Parliamentary
interest had been too strong, and here was Sir Marmaduke at home. But
the working men were not disposed to make matters so pleasant for Sir
Marmaduke, as Sir Marmaduke had expected. The Committee would not
examine Sir Marmaduke till after Easter, in the middle of April; but it
was expected of him that, he should read blue-books without number, and
he was so catechised by the working men that he almost began to wish
himself back at the Mandarins. In this way the new establishment in
Manchester Street was not at first in a happy or even in a contented
condition.

At last, after about ten days, Lady Rowley did succeed in obtaining an
interview with Trevelyan. A meeting was arranged through Bozzle, and
took place in a very dark and gloomy room at an inn in the City. Why
Bozzle should have selected the Bremen Coffee House, in Poulter's
Alley, for this meeting no fit reason can surely be given, unless it
was that he conceived himself bound to select the most dreary locality
within his knowledge on so melancholy an occasion. Poulter's Alley is a
narrow dark passage somewhere behind the Mansion House; and the Bremen
Coffee House why so called no one can now tell is one of those strange
houses of public resort in the City at which the guests seem never to
eat, never to drink, never to sleep, but to come in and out after a
mysterious and almost ghostly fashion, seeing their friends or perhaps
their enemies, in nooks and corners, and carrying on their conferences
in low melancholy whispers. There is an aged waiter at the Bremen
Coffee House; and there is certainly one private sitting-room upstairs.
It was a dingy, ill-furnished room, with an old large mahogany table,
an old horse-hair sofa, six horse-hair chairs, two old round mirrors,
and an old mahogany press in a corner. It was a chamber so sad in its
appearance that no wholesome useful work could have been done within
it; nor could men have eaten there with any appetite, or have drained
the flowing bowl with any touch of joviality. It was generally used for
such purposes as that to which it was now appropriated, and no doubt
had been taken by Bozzle on more than one previous occasion. Here Lady
Rowley arrived precisely at the hour fixed, and was told that the
gentleman was waiting up stairs for her.

There had, of course, been many family consultations as to the manner
in which this meeting should be arranged. Should Sir Marmaduke
accompany his wife or, perhaps, should Sir Marmaduke go alone? Lady
Rowley had been very much in favour of meeting Mr Trevelyan without any
one to assist her in the conference. As for Sir Marmaduke, no meeting
could be concluded between him and his son-in-law without a personal,
and probably a violent quarrel. Of that Lady Rowley had been quite
sure. Sir Marmaduke, since he had been home, had, in the midst of his
various troubles, been driven into so vehement a state of indignation
against his son-in-law as to be unable to speak of the wretched man
without strongest terms of opprobrium. Nothing was too bad to be said
by him of one who had ill-treated his dearest daughter. It must be
admitted that Sir Marmaduke had heard only one side of the question. He
had questioned his daughter, and had constantly seen his old friend
Osborne. The colonel's journey down to Devonshire had been made to
appear the most natural proceeding in the world. The correspondence of
which Trevelyan thought so much had been shown to consist of such notes
as might pass between any old gentleman and any young woman. The
promise which Trevelyan had endeavoured to exact, and which Mrs
Trevelyan had declined to give, appeared to the angry father to be a
monstrous insult. He knew that the colonel was an older man than
himself, and his Emily was still to him only a young girl. It was
incredible to him that anybody should have regarded his old comrade as
his daughter's lover. He did not believe that anybody had, in truth, so
regarded the man. The tale had been a monstrous invention on the part
of the husband, got up because he had become tired of his young wife.
According to Sir Marmaduke's way of thinking, Trevelyan should either
be thrashed within an inch of his life, or else locked up in a
mad-house. Colonel Osborne shook his head, and expressed a conviction
that the poor man was mad.

But Lady Rowley was more hopeful. Though she was as confident about her
daughter as was the father, she was less confident about the old
friend. She, probably, was alive to the fact that a man of fifty might
put on the airs and assume the character of a young lover; and acting
on that suspicion, entertaining also some hope that bad as matters now
were they might be mended, she had taken care that Colonel Osborne and
Mrs Trevelyan should not be brought together. Sir Marmaduke had fumed,
but Lady Rowley had been firm. 'If you think so, mamma,' Mrs Trevelyan
had said, with something of scorn in her tone 'of course let it be so.'
Lady Rowley had said that it would be better so; and the two had not
seen each other since the memorable visit to Nuncombe Putney. And now
Lady Rowley was about to meet her son-in law with some slight hope that
she might arrange affairs. She was quite aware that present
indignation, though certainly a gratification, might be indulged in at
much too great a cost. It would be better for all reasons that Emily
should go back to her husband and her home, and that Trevelyan should
be forgiven for his iniquities.

Bozzle was at the tavern during the interview, but he was not seen by
Lady Rowley. He remained seated downstairs, in one of the dingy
corners, ready to give assistance to his patron should assistance be
needed. When Lady Rowley was shown into the gloomy sitting-room by the
old waiter, she found Trevelyan alone, standing in the middle of the
room, and waiting for her. 'This is a sad occasion,' he said, as he
advanced to give her his hand.

'A very sad occasion, Louis.'

'I do not know what you may have heard of what has occurred, Lady
Rowley. It is natural, however, to suppose that you must have heard me
spoken of with censure.'

'I think my child has been ill used, Louis,' she replied.

'Of course you do. I could not expect that it should be otherwise. When
it was arranged that I should meet you here, I was quite aware that you
would have taken the side against me before you had heard my story. It
is I that have been ill used cruelly misused; but I do not expect that
you should believe me. I do not wish you to do. I would not for worlds
separate the mother from her daughter.'

'But why have you separated your own wife from her child?'

'Because it was my duty. What! Is a father not to have the charge of
his own son. I have done nothing, Lady Rowley, to justify a separation
which is contrary to the laws of nature.'

'Where is the boy, Louis?'

'Ah that is just what I am not prepared to tell any one who has taken
my wife's side till I know that my wife has consented to pay to me that
obedience which I, as her husband, have a right to demand. If Emily
will do as I request of her as I command her,' as Trevelyan said this,
he spoke in a tone which was intended to give the highest possible idea
of his own authority and dignity 'then she may see her child without
delay.'

'What is it you request of my daughter?'

'Obedience simply that. Submission to my will, which is surely a wife's
duty. Let her beg my pardon for what has occurred.'

'She cannot do that, Louis.'

'And solemnly promise me,' continued Trevelyan, not deigning to notice
Lady Rowley's interruption, 'that she will hold no further intercourse
with that snake in the grass who wormed his way into my house let her
be humble, and penitent, and affectionate, and then she shall be
restored to her husband and to her child.' He said this walking up and
down the room, and waving his hand, as though he were making a speech
that was intended to be eloquent as though he had conceived that he was
to overcome his mother-in-law by the weight of his words and the
magnificence of his demeanour. And yet his demeanour was ridiculous,
and his words would have had no weight had they not tended to show Lady
Rowley how little prospect there was that she should be able to heal
this breach. He himself, too, was so altered in appearance since she
had last seen him, bright with the hopes of his young married
happiness, that she would hardly have recognised him had she met him in
the street. He was thin, and pale, and haggard, and mean. And as he
stalked up and down the room, it seemed to her that the very character
of the man was changed. She had not previously known him to be pompous,
unreasonable, and absurd. She did not answer him at once, as she
perceived that he had not finished his address and, after a moment's
pause, he continued. 'Lady Rowley, there is nothing I would not have
done for your daughter for my wife. All that I had was hers. I did not
dictate to her any mode of life; I required from her no sacrifices; I
subjected her to no caprices; but I was determined to be master in my
own house.'

'I do not think, Louis, that she has ever denied your right to be
master.'

'To be master in my own house, and to be paramount in my influence over
her. So much I had a right to demand.'

'Who has denied your right?'

'She has submitted herself to the counsels and to the influences of a
man who has endeavoured to undermine me in her affection. In saying
that I make my accusation as light against her as is possible. I might
make it much heavier, and yet not sin against the truth.'

'This is an illusion, Louis.'

'Ah well. No doubt it becomes you to defend your child. Was it an
illusion when he went to Devonshire? Was it an illusion when he
corresponded with her contrary to my express orders both before and
after that unhallowed journey? Lady Rowley, there must be no more such
illusions. If my wife means to come back to me, and to have her child
in her own hands, she must be penitent as regards the past, and
obedient as regards the future.'

There was a wicked bitterness in that word penitent which almost
maddened Lady Rowley. She had come to this meeting believing that
Trevelyan would be rejoiced to take back his wife, if details could be
arranged for his doing so which should not subject him to the necessity
of crying, peccavi; but she found him speaking of his wife as though he
would be doing her the greatest possible favour in allowing her to come
back to him dressed in sackcloth, and with ashes on her head. She could
understand from what she had heard that his tone and manner were much
changed since he obtained possession of the child, and that he now
conceived that he had his wife within his power. That he should become
a tyrant because he had the power to tyrannise was not in accordance
with her former conception of the man's character but then he was so
changed, that she felt that she knew nothing of the man who now stood
before her. 'I cannot acknowledge that my daughter has done anything
that requires penitence,' said Lady Rowley.

'I dare say not but my view is different.'

'She cannot admit herself to be wrong when she knows herself to be
right. You would not have her confess to a fault, the very idea of
which has always been abhorrent to her?'

'She must be crushed in spirit, Lady Rowley, before she can again
become a pure and happy woman.'

'This is more than I can bear,' said Lady Rowley, now, at last, worked
up to a fever of indignation. 'My daughter, sir, is as pure a woman as
you have ever known, or are likely to know. You, who should have
protected her against the world, will some day take blame to yourself
as you remember that you have so cruelly maligned her.' Then she walked
away to the door, and would not listen to the words which he was
hurling after her. She went down the stairs, and out of the house, and
at the end of Poulter's Alley found the cab which was waiting for her.

Trevelyan, as soon as he was alone, rang the bell, and sent for Bozzle.
And while the waiter was coming to him, and until his myrmidon had
appeared, he continued to stalk up and down the room, waving his hand
in the air as though he were continuing his speech. 'Bozzle,' said he,
as soon as the man had closed the door, 'I have changed my mind.'

'As how, Mr Trewillian?'

'I shall make no further attempt. I have done all that man can do, and
have done it in vain. Her father and mother uphold her in her conduct,
and she is lost to me for ever.'

'But the boy, Mr T.?'

'I have my child. Yes I have my child. Poor infant. Bozzle, I look to
you to see that none of them learn our retreat.'

'As for that, Mr Trewillian why facts is to be come at by one party
pretty well as much as by another. Now, suppose the things was changed,
wicey warsey and as I was hacting for the Colonel's party.'

'D the Colonel!' exclaimed Trevelyan.

'Just so, Mr Trewillian; but if I was hacting for the other party, and
they said to me, "Bozzle where's the boy?" why, in three days I'd be
down on the facts. Facts is open, Mr Trewillian, if you knows where to
look for them.'

'I shall take him abroad at once.'

'Think twice of it, Mr T. The boy is so young, you see, and a mother's
'art is softer and lovinger than anything. I'd think twice of it, Mr
T., before I kept 'em apart.' This was a line of thought which Mr
Bozzle's conscience had not forced him to entertain to the prejudice of
his professional arrangements; but now, as he conversed with his
employer, and became by degrees aware of the failure of Trevelyan's
mind, some shade of remorse came upon him, and made him say a word on
behalf of the 'other party.'

'Am I not always thinking of it? What else have they left me to think
of? That will do for to-day. You had better come down to me to-morrow
afternoon.' Bozzle promised obedience to these instructions, and as
soon as his patron had started he paid the bill, and took himself home.

Lady Rowley, as she travelled back to her house in Manchester Street,
almost made up her mind that the separation between her daughter and
her son-in-law had better be continued. It was a very sad conclusion to
which to come, but she could not believe that any high-spirited woman
could long continue to submit herself to the caprices of a man so
unreasonable and dictatorial as he to whom she had just been listening.
Were it not for the boy, there would, she felt, be no doubt upon the
matter. And now, as matters stood, she thought that it should be their
great object to regain possession of the child. Then she endeavoured to
calculate what would be the result to her daughter, if in very truth it
should be found that the wretched man was mad. To hope for such a
result seemed to her to be very wicked and yet she hardly knew how not
to hope for it.

'Well, mamma,' said Emily Trevelyan, with a faint attempt at a smile,
'you saw him?'

'Yes, dearest, I saw him. I can only say that he is a most unreasonable
man.'

'And he would tell you nothing of Louey?'

'No dear not a word.'



CHAPTER LXIII - SIR MARMADUKE AT HOME

Nora Rowley had told her lover that there was to be no further
communication between them till her father and mother should be in
England; but in telling him so, had so frankly confessed her own
affection for him and had so sturdily promised to be true to him, that
no lover could have been reasonably aggrieved by such an interdiction.
Nora was quite conscious of this, and was aware that Hugh Stanbury had
received such encouragement as ought at any rate to bring him to the
new Rowley establishment, as soon as he should learn where it had fixed
itself. But when at the end of ten days he had not shown himself, she
began to feel doubts. Could it be that he had changed his mind, that he
was unwilling to encounter refusal from her father, or that he had
found, on looking into his own affairs more closely, that it would be
absurd for him to propose to take a wife to himself while his means
were so poor and so precarious? Sir Marmaduke during this time had been
so unhappy, so fretful, so indignant, and so much worried, that Nora
herself had become almost afraid of him; and, without much reasoning on
the matter, had taught herself to believe that Hugh might be actuated
by similar fears. She had intended to tell her mother of what had
occurred between her and Stanbury the first moment that she and Lady
Rowley were together; but then there had fallen upon them that terrible
incident of the loss of the child, and the whole family had become at
once so wrapped up in the agony of the bereaved mother, and so full of
rage against the unreasonable father, that there seemed to Nora to be
no possible opportunity for the telling of her own love-story. Emily
herself appeared to have forgotten it in the midst of her own misery,
and had not mentioned Hugh Stanbury's name since they had been in
Manchester Street. We have all felt how on occasions our own hopes and
fears, nay, almost our own individuality become absorbed in and
obliterated by the more pressing cares and louder voices of those
around us. Nora hardly dared to allude to herself while her sister's
grief was still so prominent, and while her father was daily
complaining of his own personal annoyances at the Colonial Office. It
seemed to her that at such a moment she could not introduce a new
matter for dispute, and perhaps a new subject of dismay.

Nevertheless, as the days passed by, and as she saw nothing of Hugh
Stanbury, her heart became sore and her spirit vexed. It seemed to her
that if she were now deserted by him, all the world would be over for
her. The Glascock episode in her life had passed by that episode which
might have been her history, which might have been a history so
prosperous, so magnificent, and probably so happy. As she thought of
herself and of circumstances as they had happened to her, of the
resolutions which she had made as to her own career when she first came
to London, and of the way in which she had thrown all those resolutions
away in spite of the wonderful success which had come in her path, she
could not refrain from thinking that she had brought herself to
shipwreck by her own indecision. It must not be imagined that she
regretted what she had done. She knew very well that to have acted
otherwise than she did when Mr Glascock came to her at Nuncombe Putney
would have proved her to be heartless, selfish, and unwomanly. Long
before that time she had determined that it was her duty to marry a
rich man and, if possible, a man in high position. Such a one had come
to her one endowed with all the good things of the world beyond her
most sanguine expectation and she had rejected him! She knew that she
had been right because she had allowed herself to love the other man.
She did not repent what she had done, the circumstances being as they
were, but she almost regretted that she had been so soft in heart, so
susceptible of the weakness of love, so little able to do as she
pleased with herself. Of what use to her was it that she loved this man
with all her strength of affection when he never came to her, although
the time at which he had been told that he might come was now ten days
past?

She was sitting one afternoon in the drawing-room listlessly reading,
or pretending to read, a novel, when, on a sudden, Hugh Stanbury was
announced. The circumstances of the moment were most unfortunate for
such a visit. Sir Marmaduke, who had been down at Whitehall in the
morning, and from thence had made a journey to St. Diddulph's-in-the-East
and back, was exceedingly cross and out of temper. They had told him at
his office that they feared he would not suffice to carry through the
purpose for which he had been brought home. And his brother-in-law, the
parson, had expressed to him an opinion that he was in great part
responsible for the misfortune of his daughter, by the encouragement
which he had given to such a man as Colonel Osborne. Sir Marmaduke had
in consequence quarrelled both with the chief clerk and with Mr
Outhouse, and had come home surly and discontented. Lady Rowley and her
eldest daughter were away, closeted at the moment with Lady Milborough,
with whom they were endeavouring to arrange some plan by which the boy
might at any rate be given back. Poor Emily Trevelyan was humble enough
now to Lady Milborough was prepared to be humble to any one, and in any
circumstances, so that she should not be required to acknowledge that
she had entertained Colonel Osborne as her lover. The two younger
girls, Sophy and Lucy, were in the room when Stanbury was announced, as
was also Sir Marmaduke, who at that very moment was uttering angry
growls at the obstinacy and want of reason with which he had been
treated by Mr Outhouse. Now Sir Marmaduke had not so much as heard the
name of Hugh Stanbury as yet; and Nora, though her listlessness was all
at an end, at once felt how impossible it would be to explain any of
the circumstances of her case in such an interview as this. While,
however, Hugh's dear steps were heard upon the stairs, her feminine
mind at once went to work to ascertain in what best mode, with what
most attractive reason for his presence, she might introduce the young
man to her father. Had not the girls been then present, she thought
that it might have been expedient to leave Hugh to tell his own story
to Sir Marmaduke. But she had no opportunity of sending her sisters
away; and, unless chance should remove them, this could not be done.

'He is son of the lady we were with at Nuncombe Putney,' she whispered
to her father as she got up to move across the room to welcome her
lover. Now Sir Marmaduke had expressed great disapproval of that
retreat to Dartmoor, and had only understood respecting it that it had
been arranged between Trevelyan and the family in whose custody his two
daughters had been sent away into banishment. He was not therefore
specially disposed to welcome Hugh Stanbury in consequence of this mode
of introduction.

Hugh, who had asked for Lady Rowley and Mrs Trevelyan and had learned
that they were out before he had mentioned Miss Rowley's name, was
almost prepared to take his sweetheart into his arms. In that
half-minute he had taught himself to expect that he would meet her
alone, and had altogether forgotten Sir Marmaduke. Young men when they
call at four o'clock in the day never expect to find papas at home. And
of Sophia and Lucy he had either heard nothing or had forgotten what he
had heard. He repressed himself however in time, and did not commit
either Nora or himself by any very vehement demonstration of affection.
But he did hold her hand longer than he should have done, and Sir
Marmaduke saw that he did so.