Edgar Saltus - "Imperial Purple"

Anna Katherine Green - "The Mill Mystery"

Maxim Gorky - "Mother"

Louis Antoine Fauvelet de Bourrienne - "Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, V1"

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: The King\'s Highway

G >> G. P. R. James >> The King\'s Highway




After pausing for a moment or two, his companion thought it time to
recall this strange acquaintance to the subject of his coming, and
said, "You told me I might see some of my old friends here, Mr.
Green. Let me remind you it grows late."

"Don't be impatient, my good boy," replied the other, abstractedly, at
the same time rising and drinking a deep draught of the ale--"you
SHALL see some of your old friends! Don't you see me?"

"Yes," replied Wilton, "you are an acquaintance, certainly, of some
months, but nothing more that I know of."

"Well, well, do not be impatient, I say," answered Green "you shall
see some one else, if I don't satisfy you. But you are before your
time, as I said."

He had scarcely spoken, when the door of the little room opened once
more, and a woman apparently of no very high class, and considerably
advanced in years, so as to be somewhat decrepit, came in. She was
dressed in a large grey cloak of common serge, with a stick in her
hand, and mittens on her hands, while over her head was a large black
wimple or hood, which covered a great part of her face.

The moment Green saw her, he crossed over, and said in a low but not
inaudible voice, "Not a word, till all this business is over! They
will ruin the cause and themselves, and all that are engaged with
them, by committing all sorts of crimes. It will plunge him into the
greatest dangers, if you say a word."

Much of what he said was heard by Brown; and in the meantime Green
aided the woman to disembarrass herself of her hood and cloak, taking
the staff out of her hand, and at the same time turning the key of
the door. The moment that he did so, his female companion drew
herself up; the appearance of bowed decrepitude vanished; and she
stood before Brown a tall graceful woman, apparently scarcely forty
years of age, with a countenance still beautiful, and a demeanour
which left no doubt of the society with which at one time she must
have mingled.

Of Wilton himself the lady had as yet had but once glance, as she
first entered the room; for, ever since, Green had stood between them
so that she could not see. When she did behold him fully, however,
she gazed upon him earnestly, clasping her hands, and exclaiming, "Is
it--is it possible?"

The next moment her feelings seemed to overpower her--"Oh yes, yes,"
she cried, advancing "it is he himself--the same dear, blessed
likeness of the dead!" and casting her arms round the young
gentleman's neck, she wept long and profusely on his bosom.

Wilton was surprised and agitated, as may well be conceived. He was
not sufficiently ignorant of the world not to know that there are a
thousand tricks and artifices daily practised, which assume such
appearances as the scene now performing before him displayed. He
might, indeed, have entertained suspicions of all sorts of
transformations and disguises; but there was an earnestness, a truth,
in the lady's manner that was in itself convincing, and there was
something more, also--there was a most extraordinary resemblance in
her whole face and person to the picture which we have before
mentioned in the house of the Earl of Sunbury. The features were the
same, the height, the figure: the eyes were the same colour, there was
the same peculiar expression about the mouth, and the only difference
seemed to be the difference of age. The picture represented a girl of
eighteen or nineteen: the person who stood beside him must have seen
well nigh forty summers.

Though the likeness was complete, there was a certain difference.
Have we not all beheld a beautiful scene spread out in the morning
light, full of radiance, and sparkling, and glorious sunshine? and
have we not seen a grey cloud creep over the sky, leaving the
landscape the sauce, but taking from it the resplendent beams in
which it shone at first? So did it seem with her. All appeared the
same as in the bright being whom the painter had depicted in her gay
day of youth; but that Time had since brought, as it were, a grey
shadow over the loveliness which it could not take away.

All these things took from Wilton every doubt; and after he had
suffered the lady for a moment to give way to her feelings without a
word: even throwing his arm slightly round her, and pressing her
towards him, he said, "Are you--are you my mother?"

"Alas! no, my dear boy," she replied, raising her head and wiping
away the tears, while the colour rose slightly in her cheek. "I am
not your mother, but one who has loved you scarcely less than ever
mother loved her son; one who nursed and fondled you in infancy; one
who has now come from another land but for the sake of seeing you,
and of holding once more to her heart the nursling of other years,
even more sad and terrible than these."

"From another land!" said Wilton, thoughtfully, while through the dim
and misty vista of the past, strange figures seemed to move before
his eyes, as if suddenly called up out of the darkness of oblivion by
some enchanter's voice. "Another land!" he said, thoughtfully--"Your
face and your voice seem to wake strange memories. I think, I
remember having been with you in another land, and I
recollect--surely I recollect, a pretty cottage with a rose-tree at
the door--a rose-tree in full bloom; and tying the knot of an
officer's scarf, and his holding me long to his heart, and blessing
me again and again--"

"Before he went to battle!" said the lady, "before he went to death!"
Her voice became choked in suffocating sobs, and she wept again long
and bitterly.

"Nay, but tell me more," said Wilton--"in pity, tell me more. Do I
not surely recollect his face, too?" and he pointed to Green, "and
the sparkling sea-shore? and sailing long upon the ocean? Tell me
more, oh, tell me more!"

"I must not yet, Wilton," she replied--"I must not yet. They tell me
it is dangerous, and I believe it is. Struggles must soon take place,
changes must inevitably ensue, and I would not--no, not for all the
world, I would not that your young life should be plunged into those
terrible contentions, which have swallowed up, as a dark whirlpool,
the existence of so many of your race. If our hopes be true, the way
to fortune and rank will be open to you at once: or there is no such
a thing as gratitude in the world. If not, you will have the means of
living in quiet and tranquillity, and if you will, of struggling for
higher things; for within six months the whole shall be told to you.
Ask me not! ask me not!" she added, seeing him about to speak--"I
have promised in this matter to be guided by others, and I must say
no more."

"But who is he?" continued Wilton, pointing to Green. The lady
looked first at him, and then at their companion, with a faint, even
a melancholy, smile.

"He is one," she replied, "whom you must trust, for he has ever
guided others better and more successfully than he has guided
himself. He is one who has every title to direct you."

"This is all very strange," said Wilton, "and it is painful, too. You
do not know--you cannot tell, how painful it is to live, as it were,
in a dark cloud, knowing nothing either of the future or the past."

The lady looked down sadly upon the ground.

"There are, sometimes," she said, "certainties which are far more
terrible than doubts. Be contented, Wilton, till you hear more: when
you do hear more, you will hear much painful matter; you will have
much to undergo, and you will need courage, determination, and
strength of mind. In the meanwhile, as from your earliest years,
careful, anxious, zealous, eyes have watched over you, marked your
every movement, traced your every step, even while you thought
yourself abandoned, forgotten, and neglected: so shall it be till the
whole is explained to you. Thenceforth you will rule your own
conduct, judge, determine, and act for yourself. We know, we are
sure, that you will act nobly, uprightly, and well in the meanwhile,
and that you will do no deed which at a future period may not befit
any station and any race to acknowledge."

Wilton mused deeply for several moments, and then raising his eyes to
the lady's face, he demanded, in a low tone--

"Answer me only one question more. Am I the son of Lord Sunbury?"

The blood rushed violently up into the lady's countenance.

"Lord Sunbury was never married," she exclaimed--"was he?"

"I know not," replied Wilton--"all I ask is, am I his son? I ask it,
because he has shown me generous kindness, care, and consideration;
and at times I have seen him gazing in my face, when he thought I did
not remark it, as if there were some deeper feelings in his bosom
than mere friendship. Yet I cannot say that he has ever taught me to
look upon myself as his son."

"Your imagination is only leading you into a labyrinth, Wilton,"
replied the personage calling himself Green, "from which you will
find it difficult to extricate yourself. Be contented with what you
know, and ask no more."

"I much wish, and I do entreat," replied Wilton, "that you would give
me an answer to the question I have asked. There might be
circumstances--indeed, I may say, that circumstances are very likely
to occur, in which it would be absolutely necessary for me to know
what claim I have upon the Earl of Sunbury. I have never yet asked
him for anything of importance; but I foresee that the time may soon
come when I may have to demand of him what I would not venture to
demand, did I consider myself but the claimless child of his bounty."

The lady looked at Green, and Green at her, and they paused for
several minutes. At length she answered, "I will give you a claim
upon Lord Sunbury;" and she took from her finger a large ring, such
as were commonly worn in those days, presenting on one side a shield
of black enamel surrounded with brilliants, and in the centre a
cipher, formed also of small diamonds. "Keep this," said the lady,
"till all is explained to you, Wilton, and then return it to me.
Should the Earl's assistance be required in anything of vital
importance, show him that ring, if he be in England, or if he be
abroad, tell him that you possess it, and beseech him by all the
thoughts which that may call up in his mind, to aid you to the utmost
of his power.--I think he will not fail you."

Wilton was about to answer; and though it was now growing dusk, he
might have lingered on much longer, striving to gain more
information, but at that moment there came a sound of many feet at
the passage, and the voice of some one speaking apparently to the
landlord, and demanding,--"Who the devil's horses are those walking
up and down there?"

Almost at the same time, a hand was laid upon the latch of the door,
and it would have been thrown open, had not Green previously taken
the precaution of locking it. He now partially opened it, however,
and spoke a few words to those without.

"Go into the next room," he said; "go into the next room--I will be
with you directly." He then closed the door again, and turning to
Wilton, took him by the arm, saying, "Now mount your horse, and be
gone instantly: your time for staying here is over; make the best of
your way home, without delay; and only remember, that whenever we
meet in future, you do not appear to know me, unless I speak to you.
Should you want advice, direction, and assistance--and remember, that
though poor and powerless as I seem, I may know more, and be able to
do far more, than you imagine--ask for me here; or the first time
you see me, lay your finger upon that ring which she has given you,
and I will find means to learn your wishes, and to promote them
instantly--Now you must go at once."

Wilton saw that the attempt to learn more, at that moment, would be
vain: but before he departed, he took the lady by the hand, bidding
her adieu, and saying, "At all events, I have one consolation. Since
I came here, I feel less lonely in the world; I feel that there are
some to whom I am dear; and yet I would fain ask you one thing more.
It is, how, when I think of you, I shall name you in my thoughts.
Your image will be frequently before me; the affection which you have
shown me, the words you have spoken, will never be forgotten. But
there is a pleasure in connecting all those remembrances with a name.
It seems to render them definite; to give them a habitation in the
heart for ever."

"Call me Helen," replied the lady, quickly. "Where I now dwell they
call me the Lady Helen. I must not add any more; and now adieu, for
it is time that both you and I should leave this place."

Green once more urged him to depart; and Brown, with his curiosity
not satisfied, but even more excited than ever, quitted the house,
mounted his horse, and rode away slowly towards his own dwelling,
meditating as he went.



CHAPTER XVI.

"Onward! onward!" cries the voice of youth; whether it may be that
the days are bright, passing in joy and tranquillity, and we can say
with the greatest French poet of the present day--ay, the greatest,
however it may seem--Beranger,

"Sur une onde tranquille,
Voguant soir et matin,
Ma nacelle est docile
Au souffle du destin.
La voile s'enfie-t-elle,
J'abandonne le bord.
(O doux zephir, sois-moi fidele!)
Eh! vogue, ma nacelle;
Nous trouverons un port"--

or whether the morning is overcast with clouds and storms, still
"Onward! onward!" is the cry, either in the hope of gaining new joys,
or to escape the sorrows that surround us. It is for age to stretch
back the longing arms towards the Past: the fate of youth is to bound
forward to meet the Future.

Wilton reached his home, and bending down his head upon his hands,
passed more than an hour in troublous meditation. All was confused and
turbid. The stream of thought was like a mountain torrent, suddenly
swelled by rains, overflowing its banks, knowing no restraint, no
longer clear and bright, but dark and foaming and whirling in rapid
and uncertain eddies round every object that it touched upon. The
scene at Beaufort House, the thought of Laura, and all that had been
said there, mingled strangely and wildly with everything that had
taken place afterwards, and nothing seemed certain, but all confused,
and indistinct, and vague. But still there came a cry from the
bottom of his heart: the cry of "Onward! onward! onward! towards the
fated future!"

Nor was that cry the less vehement or less importunate because lie
had no power whatsoever to advance or retard the coming events by a
single hour: nor had it less influence because--unlike most men, who
generally have some lamp, however dim, to give them light into the
dark caverns of the future--he had not even one faint ray of
probability to show him what was before his footsteps.

On the contrary, the yearning to reach that future, to pass on through
that darkness to some brighter place beyond, was all the more strong and
urgent. In short, excited imagination had produced some hope, without
the slightest probability to foster it. He had even been told that he
was to expect information of a painful kind. Not one word had been said
to give him the expectation of a bright destiny: and yet there was
something so sweet, so happy, in having found any one whose tenderness
had been bestowed upon his infant years, and whose affection had
remained unchanged by time and absence, that hope--as hope always
is--was born of happiness; and though that hope was wild, uncertain, and
unfounded, it made the natural eagerness of youth all the more eager.

When he lay down to rest he slept not, but still many a vision
floated before his waking eyes, and thought made the night seem
short. On the following morning he was early up and dressed; but by
seven o'clock a note was put into his hand, in a writing which he did
not know. On opening it, however, he found it to contain a request,
couched in the most courteous terms, from the Duke of Gaveston, that
he would call upon him immediately, and before he went to the house
of Lord Byerdale. There was scarcely time to do so; but he instantly
ordered his horse, and galloped to Beaufort House as fast as
possible. He was ushered immediately into a small saloon, and thence
into the dressing-room of the Duke, whom he found in a state of
considerable agitation, and evidently embarrassed even in explaining
to him what he wanted.

"I have sent for you, Mr. Brown," he said,--"I have sent for you to
speak on a matter that may be of great consequence:--not that I know
that it will be--not that I have heard anything--for I would not
hear, after I found out what was the great object; but--but--"

Wilton was inclined to imagine that some unexpected obstacles had
occurred in regard to the proposed alliance between the families of
the Duke and of the Earl of Byerdale, and he certainly felt no
inclination to aid in removing those obstacles. He replied,
therefore, coldly enough, "If there is anything in which I can serve
your grace, I am sure it will give me much pleasure to do so."

His coldness, however, only seemed to increase the Duke's eagerness
and also his agitation.

"You can, indeed, Mr. Brown," he said, "render me the very greatest
service, and I'm sure you are an honourable and an upright man, and
will not refuse me. If you had explained yourself more clearly the
night before last, I am sure I would have taken your advice at once,
and would not have gone at all; but, as it is, I stayed not a moment
longer than I could help, and have now broken with Fenwick and
Barklay for ever. They vow that I am pledged to their cause, and must
take a part, but they will find themselves mistaken."

Wilton now found that the good nobleman's fancy had misled him, and
that his agitation arose from something that had taken place at the
meeting at the Old King's Head, in regard to which he certainly knew
nothing, nor indeed wished to know anything. He replied, however,
somewhat more warmly,--

"In regard to these transactions, my lord duke, I know nothing, as I
before informed you: but if you will tell me how I can serve you, I
will do it with pleasure."

"I was sure you would, Mr. Brown, I was sure you would," said the
Duke. "You can do me the greatest service, my dear young friend, by
promising me positively upon your word of honour never to mention to
any one that I went to this meeting at the Old King's Head, or, in
fact, that I knew anything about it. I especially could wish that it
be not mentioned to the Earl of Byerdale; for I know that he is a
very fierce and vindictive man, and I do not wish to put myself in
his power, just at present, above all times. Nobody on earth knows it
but you and the people engaged in the affair, whose mouths are
stopped, of course. We left the carriage on this side of Paul's, and
I sent the two running footmen different ways, so that, if you give me
your honour, I am quite safe."

"I give you my honour, most assuredly, my lord duke," replied Wilton,
"that I will never, under any circumstances, or at any time, mention
one word of that which has taken place between us on the subject.
Rest perfectly sure of that. Indeed, I know nothing; I therefore
have nothing to tell. But, at all events, I will utter not one
word."

"Thank you, thank you!" cried the Duke, grasping his hand with joy
and enthusiasm--"thank you, thank you a thousand times, my dear young
friend!" and in the excitement of the moment, in his dressing-gown and
slippers as he was, he led Wilton out to the room where his daughter
was seated, and without any explanation informed her that he, Wilton,
was one of his best and dearest friends. He then rushed back again to
conclude the little that wanted to the labours of his toilet, leaving
Wilton alone with her at the breakfast-table.

"Oh, Mr. Brown," exclaimed Laura, with her face glowing with
eagerness, "I hope and trust that you have settled this business, for
I have been most anxious ever since last night. Sir John Fenwick
behaved so ill, and quitted the house in such fury, and that
dark-looking man who accompanied him back, used such threatening
language towards my father, that indeed--indeed, I feared for the
consequences this morning."

Wilton evidently saw that her fears pointed in any direction but the
right one, and that she apprehended some hostile rencontre between
her father and the two rash Jacobites with whom he had suffered
himself to be entangled. Knowing, however, that it could be anything
but the desire of such men to call public attention to their
proceedings, he did not scruple to give her every assurance that no
duel, or angry collision of any kind, was likely, to take place: at
which news her face glowed with pleasure, and her lips flowed with
many an expression of gratitude, although he assured hex again and
again that he had done nothing on earth to merit her thanks.

The smiles were very beautiful, however, and very grateful to his
heart; but he found that every moment was adding to feelings which it
was madness to indulge; and, therefore, as soon as the Duke had
returned, he took his leave, and turned his steps homeward. He knew,
indeed, that he should have to encounter the same pleasant danger
again that very afternoon; that he should have to see her, to be in
the same room, to sit at the same table with her, to speak to her,
even though it were but for a moment; but then it would be all under
restraint; the eyes of the many would be upon them; there would be no
open communication, no speaking the real feelings of the heart, no
freedom from the dull routine of society.

He was perhaps five minutes behind his time, but the Earl was all
complaisance: the arrangements that he had made for his son; the
unexpected facility with which Lord Sherbrooke had apparently entered
into those arrangements; the political importance of the alliance
with the Duke; the immense accession of wealth to his family; the
aspect of public affairs, were all sufficient to mellow down a
demeanour which, to his inferiors at least, was generally harsh and
proud. But yet Wilton could not help believing that there was a
peculiar expression in the Earl's countenance when that nobleman's
eyes turned upon him; that there was a smile which was not a smile of
benignity, that there was a courtesy which was not of the heart. Why
or wherefore Wilton could hardly tell, but he fancied that the Earl's
conduct was what it might be towards a person who had suddenly fallen
completely into his power, and whom he intended to use as a tool in
any way that he might think fit. He pictured to his own imagination
the Earl bidding his victim perform some action the most revolting to
his feelings in the sweetest tone possible; the victim beginning to
resist; the cold blooded politician calmly showing his power, and
exercising it with bitter civility.

However, the courtesy lasted all day: there was nothing said to
confirm Wilton in this fancy; and when he took leave, the Earl
reminded him of the dinner hour, adding, "Be punctual, be punctual,
Mr. Brown. We shall dine exactly at the hour; and my cook is a virago,
you know."

Wilton did not fail to be to the moment, and he, the Earl, and Lord
Sherbrooke, were some time in the great saloon before the guests began
to arrive. At length the large heavy coaches of those days began to
roll into the court-yard, and one after another many a distinguished
man and many a celebrated beauty of the age appeared. Still, however,
the Earl evidently looked upon the Duke and his daughter as the
principal guests, and waited in anxious expectation for their coming.

They arrived later than any one, Laura herself looking grave, if not
sad, the Duke evidently embarrassed and not at ease. Nor did the
particular attentions paid by the Earl to both remove in any degree
the sadness of the one or the embarrassment of the other. This was so
marked that the Earl soon felt it; and though the sort of determined
calmness of his manner, and habitual self-command, prevented him from
showing the least uneasiness, yet, from a particular glance of his
eye and momentary quiver of his lip, Wilton divined that he was angry
and irritable.

It must be admitted, also, that Lord Sherbrooke did not take the
means to put his father more at ease. To Lady Laura he paid no
attention whatsoever, devoted himself during the greater part of the
evening to a beautiful woman of not the most pure and unsullied
character in the world, and showed himself disposed to flirt with
everybody, except the very person to whom his father wished him to
pay court. The dinner party was followed by an entertainment in the
evening; and still the same scene went on; till at length the Earl
came round to Wilton, and said, in a low voice, "I wish, my dear
young gentleman, you would try your influence upon Sherbrooke."

The Earl was going on, but Wilton rose immediately, saying, "I
understand you, my lord," and approaching the place where Lord
Sherbrooke was seated, he waited till the laughter which was going on
around him was over, and then said in a low voice, "For pity's sake,
Sherbrooke, and for decency's sake, do pay some attention to the Duke
and his daughter; remember, they are new guests of your father's, and
merit, at all events, some respect."