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Leila's Books
God and the Man
God and the Man
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This ebook edition has been proofed, corrected and compiled to be read with without errors!
***
Contents:
Chapter 1. A Winter Night's Prologue
Chapter 2. The Years Role Back: A Death Bed
Chapter 3. Shadows At The Fen Farm
Chapter 4. Sowing The Black Seed
Chapter 5. Enter Priscilla
Chapter 6. Father And Daughter
Chapter 7. A Disaffected Spirit
Chapter 8. Clouds In The Sky
Chapter 9. The Enemy In The Path
Chapter 10. Up At The Willows
Chapter 11. Another Love Scene
Chapter 12. Kate Christianson's Trouble
Chapter 13. Kate Comes Home
Chapter 14. The Widow's Cup Is Full
Chapter 15. The Dead Woman
Chapter 16. On Board The 'Miles Standish'
Chapter 17. Outward Bound
Chapter 18. John Dyson
Chapter 19. Face To Face Again
Chapter 20. Priscilla Makes Her Choice
Chapter 21. Between Two Elements
Chapter 22. Cast Away
Chapter 23. Ice-Drift From The Polar Sea
Chapter 24. The Storm
Chapter 25. Beset By The Ice
Chapter 26. 'An Eye For An Eye'
Chapter 27. Here Begins Christian Christianson's Record, Writ Down By His Own Hand
Chapter 28. The Island Of Desolation
Chapter 29. Christian Roofs His House
Chapter 30. A New Perplexity
Chapter 31. The Face On The Cliff
Chapter 32. The Two Men
Chapter 33. In The Shadow Of The Cave
Chapter 34. 'Come Back With Me!'
Chapter 35. The Aurora
Chapter 36. The Bear
Chapter 37. Vigil
Chapter 38. Out In The Snow
Chapter 39. The Sick Man's Dreams
Chapter 40. 'Our Father'
Chapter 41. The Last Look
Chapter 42. 'Snow To Snow!'
Chapter 43. From The Log Of The Whaler 'Nautilus'
Chapter 44. At The Sailor's Home
Chapter 45. Epilogue
an excerpt from the beginning of:
Chapter 1. A WINTER NIGHT'S PROLOGUE
'Granddad, Granddad! look up!--it is Marjorie. Have you forgotten your niece, Marjorie Wells? And this is little Edgar, Marjorie's son! Speak to him, Edgar, speak to granddad. Alack, this is one of his dark days, and he knoweth no one.'
In the arm-chair of carven oak stained black as ebony by the smokes of many years, and placed in the great hall where the yule log is burning, the old man sits as he has sat every day since last winter; speechless, to all seeming sightless; faintly smiling and nodding from time to time when well shaken into consciousness by some kindly hand, and then relapsing into stupor. He is paralysed from the waist downwards. His deeply wrinkled face is ashen gray and perfectly bloodless, set in its frame of snow-white hair; hair that has once been curly and light, and still falls in thin white ringlets on the stooping shoulders; his hands are shrivelled to thinnest bone and parchment; his eyes, sunken deep beneath the brows, give forth little or no glimmer of the fire of life.
Ninety years old. The ruin, or wreck, of what has once been a gigantic man.
The frame is still gigantic, and shows the mighty mould in which the man was made; the great head, with its brood overhanging brows and square powerful jaw, is like the head of an aged lion of Africa, toothless and gray with time.
Kick the great log, and as the sparks fly up the chimney thick as bees from out a hive, his eyes open a little, and he seems faintly conscious of the flame. Flash the lamp into his sunken eyes, and as he mutters curiously to himself, and fumbles with thin hands upon his knees, a faint flash of consciousness comes from the smouldering brand of brain within.
He is not always so inert as now. This, as the grave matron who is bending over him says, is one of his dark days. Sometimes he will look around and talk feebly to his children's children, and seem to listen as some one reads out of the great family Bible which stands ever near his elbow; and the gray old face will smile gently, and the thin worn hand lie lightly as a leaf on some flaxen head. But to-night, though it is Christmas Eve, and all the kinsfolk of the house are gathered together, he knows no one, and sees and hears nothing. He breathes, and that is all.
All round the upland hall the snow is lying, but over it, since last night, have fallen, in black tree-like shadows, the trails of the thaw. The woods are bare. The great horse-chestnut on the hill-top has long since shed its sevenfold fans, intermingled with jagged brown buds bursting open to show the glossy nuts within. Bare even is the ash, which keeps a goodly portion of its leaves so long, and stands scarcely half stript, darkening in the chill autumnal wind. All the landscape round looks dark and ominous; the shadow of winter is seen visibly upon the shivering world.
'Put a drop to his lips--perhaps he'd know us then.'
***
Contents:
Chapter 1. A Winter Night's Prologue
Chapter 2. The Years Role Back: A Death Bed
Chapter 3. Shadows At The Fen Farm
Chapter 4. Sowing The Black Seed
Chapter 5. Enter Priscilla
Chapter 6. Father And Daughter
Chapter 7. A Disaffected Spirit
Chapter 8. Clouds In The Sky
Chapter 9. The Enemy In The Path
Chapter 10. Up At The Willows
Chapter 11. Another Love Scene
Chapter 12. Kate Christianson's Trouble
Chapter 13. Kate Comes Home
Chapter 14. The Widow's Cup Is Full
Chapter 15. The Dead Woman
Chapter 16. On Board The 'Miles Standish'
Chapter 17. Outward Bound
Chapter 18. John Dyson
Chapter 19. Face To Face Again
Chapter 20. Priscilla Makes Her Choice
Chapter 21. Between Two Elements
Chapter 22. Cast Away
Chapter 23. Ice-Drift From The Polar Sea
Chapter 24. The Storm
Chapter 25. Beset By The Ice
Chapter 26. 'An Eye For An Eye'
Chapter 27. Here Begins Christian Christianson's Record, Writ Down By His Own Hand
Chapter 28. The Island Of Desolation
Chapter 29. Christian Roofs His House
Chapter 30. A New Perplexity
Chapter 31. The Face On The Cliff
Chapter 32. The Two Men
Chapter 33. In The Shadow Of The Cave
Chapter 34. 'Come Back With Me!'
Chapter 35. The Aurora
Chapter 36. The Bear
Chapter 37. Vigil
Chapter 38. Out In The Snow
Chapter 39. The Sick Man's Dreams
Chapter 40. 'Our Father'
Chapter 41. The Last Look
Chapter 42. 'Snow To Snow!'
Chapter 43. From The Log Of The Whaler 'Nautilus'
Chapter 44. At The Sailor's Home
Chapter 45. Epilogue
an excerpt from the beginning of:
Chapter 1. A WINTER NIGHT'S PROLOGUE
'Granddad, Granddad! look up!--it is Marjorie. Have you forgotten your niece, Marjorie Wells? And this is little Edgar, Marjorie's son! Speak to him, Edgar, speak to granddad. Alack, this is one of his dark days, and he knoweth no one.'
In the arm-chair of carven oak stained black as ebony by the smokes of many years, and placed in the great hall where the yule log is burning, the old man sits as he has sat every day since last winter; speechless, to all seeming sightless; faintly smiling and nodding from time to time when well shaken into consciousness by some kindly hand, and then relapsing into stupor. He is paralysed from the waist downwards. His deeply wrinkled face is ashen gray and perfectly bloodless, set in its frame of snow-white hair; hair that has once been curly and light, and still falls in thin white ringlets on the stooping shoulders; his hands are shrivelled to thinnest bone and parchment; his eyes, sunken deep beneath the brows, give forth little or no glimmer of the fire of life.
Ninety years old. The ruin, or wreck, of what has once been a gigantic man.
The frame is still gigantic, and shows the mighty mould in which the man was made; the great head, with its brood overhanging brows and square powerful jaw, is like the head of an aged lion of Africa, toothless and gray with time.
Kick the great log, and as the sparks fly up the chimney thick as bees from out a hive, his eyes open a little, and he seems faintly conscious of the flame. Flash the lamp into his sunken eyes, and as he mutters curiously to himself, and fumbles with thin hands upon his knees, a faint flash of consciousness comes from the smouldering brand of brain within.
He is not always so inert as now. This, as the grave matron who is bending over him says, is one of his dark days. Sometimes he will look around and talk feebly to his children's children, and seem to listen as some one reads out of the great family Bible which stands ever near his elbow; and the gray old face will smile gently, and the thin worn hand lie lightly as a leaf on some flaxen head. But to-night, though it is Christmas Eve, and all the kinsfolk of the house are gathered together, he knows no one, and sees and hears nothing. He breathes, and that is all.
All round the upland hall the snow is lying, but over it, since last night, have fallen, in black tree-like shadows, the trails of the thaw. The woods are bare. The great horse-chestnut on the hill-top has long since shed its sevenfold fans, intermingled with jagged brown buds bursting open to show the glossy nuts within. Bare even is the ash, which keeps a goodly portion of its leaves so long, and stands scarcely half stript, darkening in the chill autumnal wind. All the landscape round looks dark and ominous; the shadow of winter is seen visibly upon the shivering world.
'Put a drop to his lips--perhaps he'd know us then.'
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