Darkness and Daylight

Mary Jane Holmes

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• Publié par: thuwyor
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 33
• Langue: English

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Daylight, by Mary J. Holmes #2 in our series by
Mary J. Holmes
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Title: Darkness and Daylight
Author: Mary J. Holmes
Release Date: December, 2003 [Etext #4721]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of
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[This file was first posted on March 7, 2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
The Project Gutenberg Etext of Darkness and
Daylight, by Mary J. Holmes
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Please read this important information, as it gives
you specific rights and tells you about restrictions
in how the file may be used.DARKNESS AND
DAYLIGHT.
A Novel
BY
MRS. MARY J. HOLMES,
AUTHOR OF "LENA RIVERS," "MARIAN GREY,"
"MEADOW BROOK," "HOMESTEAD," "DORA
DEANE," "COUSIN MAUDE," "TEMPEST AND
SUNSHINE," "ENGLISH ORPHANS," ETC.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. COLLINGWOOD II. EDITH
HASTINGS GOES TO COLLINGWOOD III.
GRACE ATHERTON IV. RICHARD AND EDITH V.
VISITORS AT COLLINGWOOD AND VISITORSAT BRIER HILL VI. ARTHUR AND EDITH VII.
RICHARD AND ARTHUR VIII. RICHARD AND
EDITH IX. WOMANHOOD X. EDITH AT HOME XI.
MATTERS AT GRASSY SPRING XII. LESSONS
XIII. FRIDAY XIV. THE MYSTERY AT GRASSY
SPRING XV. NINA XVI. ARTHUR'S STORY XVII.
NINA AND MIGGIE XVIII. DR. GRISWOLD XIX.
EX OFFICIO XX. THE DECISION XXI. THE
DEERING WOODS XXII. THE DARKNESS
DEEPENS XXIII. PARTING XXIV. THE
NINETEENTH BIRTHDAY XXV. DESTINY XXVI.
EDITH AND THE WORLD XXVII. THE LAND OF
FLOWERS XXVIII. SUNNYBANK XXIX. THE
SISTERS XXX. ARTHUR AND NINA XXXI. LAST
DAYS XXXII. PARTING WITH THE DEAD AND
PARTING WITH THE LIVING XXXIII. HOME
XXXIV. NINA'S LETTER XXXV. THE FIERY TEST
XXXVI. THE SACRIFICE XXXVII. THE BRIDAL
XXXVIII. SIX YEARS LATER
DARKNESS AND
DAYLIGHT.CHAPTER I.
COLLINGWOOD.
Collingwood was to have a tenant at last. For
twelve long years its massive walls of dark grey
stone had frowned in gloomy silence upon the
passers-by, the terror of the superstitious ones,
who had peopled its halls with ghosts and goblins,
saying even that the snowy-haired old man, its
owner, had more than once been seen there,
moving restlessly from room to room and muttering
of the darkness which came upon him when he lost
his fair young wife and her beautiful baby Charlie.
The old man was not dead, but for years he had
been a stranger to his former home.
In foreign lands he had wandered—up and down,
up and down—from the snow-clad hills of Russia to
where the blue skies of Italy bent softly over him
and the sunny plains of France smiled on him a
welcome. But the darkness he bewailed was there
as elsewhere, and to his son he said, at last, "We
will go to America, but not to Collingwood—notwhere Lucy used to live, and where the boy was
born."
So they came back again and made for
themselves a home on the shore of the silvery lake
so famed in song, where they hoped to rest from
their weary journeyings. But it was not so decreed.
Slowly as poison works within the blood, a fearful
blight was stealing upon the noble, uncomplaining
Richard, who had sacrificed his early manhood to
his father's fancies, and when at last the blow had
fallen and crushed him in its might, he became as
helpless as a little child, looking to others for the
aid he had heretofore been accustomed to render.
Then it was that the weak old man emerged for a
time from beneath the cloud which had enveloped
him so long, and winding his arms around his
stricken boy, said, submissively, "What will poor
Dick have me do?"
"Go to Collingwood, where I know every walk and
winding path, and where the world will not seem so
dreary, for I shall be at home."
The father had not expected this, and his palsied
hands shook nervously; but the terrible misfortune
of his son had touched a chord of pity, and brought
to his darkened mind a vague remembrance of the
years in which the unselfish Richard had thought
only of his comfort, and so he answered sadly,
"We will go to Collingwood."
One week more, and it was known in Shannondale,
that crazy Captain Harrington and his son, thehandsome Squire Richard, were coming again to
the old homestead, which was first to be fitted up
in a most princely style. All through the summer
months the extensive improvements and repairs
went on, awakening the liveliest interest in the
villagers, who busied themselves with watching and
reporting the progress of events at Collingwood.
Fires were kindled on the marble hearths, and the
flames went roaring up the broad-mouthed
chimneys, frightening from their nests of many
years the croaking swallows, and scaring away the
bats, which had so long held holiday in the
deserted rooms. Partitions were removed, folding
doors were made, windows were cut down, and
large panes of glass were substituted for those of
more ancient date. The grounds and garden too
were reclaimed from the waste of briers and weeds
which had so wantonly rioted there; and the waters
of the fish- pond, relieved of their dark green slime
and decaying leaves, gleamed once more in the
summer sunshine like a sheet of burnished silver,
while a fairy boat lay moored upon its bosom as in
the olden time. Softly the hillside brooklet fell, like a
miniature cascade, into the little pond, and the low
music it made blended harmoniously with the fall of
the fountain not far away.
It was indeed a beautiful place; and when the
furnishing process began, crowds of eager people
daily thronged the spacious rooms, commenting
upon the carpets, the curtains, the chandeliers, the
furniture of rosewood and marble, and marvelling
much why Richard Harrington should care for
surroundings so costly and elegant. Could it be thathe intended surprising them with a bride? It was
possible—nay, more, it was highly probable that
weary of his foolish sire's continual mutterings of
"Lucy and the darkness," he bad found some fair
young girl to share the care with him, and this was
her gilded cage.
Shannondale was like all country towns, and the
idea once suggested, the story rapidly gained
ground, until at last it reached the ear of Grace
Atherton, the pretty young widow, whose windows
looked directly across the stretches of meadow
and woodland to where Collingwood lifted its single
tower and its walls of dark grey stone. As became
the owner of Brier Hill and the widow of a judge,
Grace held herself somewhat above the rest of the
villagers, associating with but few, and finding her
society mostly in the city not many miles away,
When her cross, gouty, phthisicy, fidgety old
husband lay sick for three whole months, she
nursed him so patiently that people wondered if it
could be she loved the SURLY DOG, and one
woman, bolder than the others, asked her if she
did.
"Love him? No," she answered, "but I shall do my
duty."
So when he died she made him a grand funeral,
but did not pretend that she was sorry. She was
not, and the night on which she crossed the
threshold of Brier Hill a widow of twenty-one saw
her a happier woman than when she first crossed it