The Flower of the Flock Volume II (of III) E-Book

Pierce Egan

• Herausgeber: Publisher s11838
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

The Flower of the Flock written by Pierce Egan who was a British journalist, sportswriter, and writer on popular culture.  This book has three volumes. It has already published in 1865. Now republish in ebook format. We believe this work is culturally important in its original archival form. While we strive to adequately clean and digitally enhance the original work, there are occasionally instances where imperfections such as blurred or missing pages, poor pictures or errant marks may have been introduced due to either the quality of the original work. Despite these occasional imperfections, we have brought it back into print as part of our ongoing global book preservation commitment, providing customers with access to the best possible historical reprints. We appreciate your understanding of these occasional imperfections, and sincerely hope you enjoy reading this book.

Leseprobe

The Flower of the Flock

Volume II (of III)

By

Pierce Egan

Table of Contents

CHAPTER I.—SUITORS

CHAPTER II.—THE DREADFUL SECRET.

CHAPTER III.—THE STRICKEN DEER.

CHAPTER IV.—THE ASSAULT AND THE RESCUE.

CHAPTER V.—THE GOLD AND THE ALLOY.

CHAPTER VI.—THE COVETED HEART BESTOWED.

CHAPTER VII.—MARK WILTON.

CHAPTER VIII.—THE COMPACT.

CHAPTER IX.—LESTER VANE AND VIVIAN.

CHAPTER X.—THE OLD MAN AND HIS DAUGHTER.

CHAPTER XI.—THE UNPLEASANT CONFERENCE.

CHAPTER XII.—LESTER VANE AND HELEN.

CHAPTER XIII.—A SISTER’S LOVE

CHAPTER XIV.—REVENGE.

CHAPTER XV.—THE RETURN HOME.

CHAPTER I.—SUITORS

And art thou then, fond youth, secure of joy?

Can no reverse thy flattering bliss destroy?

Has treacherous Love no torment yet in store?

Or hast thou never proved his fatal power P

Whence flow’d those tears that late bedew’d thy cheek?

Why sigh’d thy heart as if it strove to break?

Why were the desert rocks invok’d to hear

The plaintive accent of thy sad despair?

Lyttleton.

It was, as we have seen, through, the remarkable and unexpected return of Colonel Mires to England, and the no less singular circumstance of the rencontre in the Queen’s Bench, that old Wilton was reinstated in the position from which years back he had been, by the harsh rigour of the law, ruthlessly expelled.

As Nathan Gomer had stated to Mr. Grahame, the Colonel not only came forward to prove the genuineness of his own signature and the integrity of the document to which it was attached, but he was able to show that a duplicate existed, to point out the solicitor in whose hands it had been placed, and to help to refresh this old man’s recollection as to what had become of that most important paper. The individual thus suddenly-dragged from his seclusion, had long retired from practice, but he yet retained many important deeds and documents, to which he had been attesting witness or a party in some way.

It was, therefore, mainly by Colonel Mires’s instrumentality that Wilton was once more a man of wealth and position; and, knowing this, the former felt no scruple in becoming a frequent visitor at Mr. Wilton’s house.

He had, indeed, a secret motive which impelled him to present himself pretty constantly at Mr. Wilton’s table.

He had, not unmoved, looked upon the face of Flora Wilton; first in the courtyard of the Queen’s Prison, and many times since when surrounded by all those accessories to personal charms which elegant dress and freedom from anxiety afford.

At first a high degree of admiration was raised in his breast by a personal beauty of rare excellence, which, at the same time, struck him as being familiar to him. A glorious star, worshipped in boyhood, since lost, and now suddenly reappearing in his sphere, which was only too sparsely studded with orbs of light.

The admiration deepened, as it was fed by frequent observation, into a more ardent emotion. Love and passion were called into being, and the Colonel had not been long the frequent guest at Wilton’s abode, ere he found himself ardently in love with Flora. He was at an age when love is a dangerous tenant in a man’s breast. In youth he had been tinged with romance, but he had had more than enough selfishness to counteract its promptings. His passions were no doubt strong while they lasted, but they were sufficiently evanescent to commit no havoc on his heart. There was one solitary case in which the love which is deaf to the urgings of self-worship, and susceptible to all that is noble, generous, and exalted, sought a home in his bosom; but the heart he coveted had been bestowed, the hand be yearned to obtain was given to another. He was compelled to subdue the fonder workings of his soul; and in a distant clime, amid the whirl of gay, heartless, frivolous society, to deaden the restless action of a sentiment he could not wholly forget. He was so far successful, that he reduced it to subordination. The stirring activity of camp life and warfare, the indolent, intriguing nature of domestic society in India, where ladies are scarce and gentlemen officers are in excess, these and many other causes peculiar to his isolation from all his English ties, kept this emotion deep beneath the surface. It was, however, like a trout in a deep and shady recess in a pool, and would spring to the surface whenever the attracting influence of a tempting object reached it.