The Christian - A Story

Hall Caine

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• Publié par: nachog
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 20
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Christian, by Hall Caine This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Christian A Story Author: Hall Caine Release Date: July 16, 2009 [EBook #8407] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHRISTIAN *** Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Thomas Berger, David Widger and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. THE CHRISTIAN A STORY By Hall Caine Author of The Manxman The period of the story is the last quarter of the nineteenth century. No particular years are intended. The time occupied by the incidents of the first Book is about six months, of the Second Book about six months, of the Third Book about six months; then there is an interval of half a year, and the time occupied by the incidents of the Fourth Book is about six weeks. An Author's Note will be found at the end. Contents THE CHRISTIAN. FIRST BOOK. THE OUTER WORLD. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. SECOND BOOK. THE RELIGIOUS LIFE. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. THIRD BOOK. THE DEVIL'S ACRE. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. FOURTH BOOK. SANCTUARY I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. THE CHRISTIAN. FIRST BOOK. THE OUTER WORLD. I. On the morning of the 9th of May, 18—, three persons important to this story stood among the passengers on the deck of the Isle of Man steamship Tynwald as she lay by the pier at Douglas getting up steam for the passage to Liverpool. One of these was an old clergyman of seventy, with a sweet, mellow, childlike face; another was a young man of thirty, also a clergyman; the third was a girl of twenty. The older clergyman wore a white neckcloth about his throat, and was dressed in rather threadbare black of a cut that had been more common twenty years before; the younger clergyman wore a Roman collar, a long clerical coat, and a stiff, broad-brimmed hat with a cord and tassel. They stood amidships, and the captain, coming out of his room to mount the bridge, saluted them as he passed. "Good morning, Mr. Storm." The young clergyman returned the salutation with a slight bow and the lifting of his hat. "Morning to you, Parson Quayle." The old clergyman answered cheerily, "Oh, good morning, captain; good morning." There was the usual inquiry about the weather outside, and drawing up to answer it, the captain came eye to eye with the girl. "So this is the granddaughter, is it?" "Yes, this is Glory," said Parson Quayle. "She's leaving the old grandfather at last, captain, and I'm over from Peel to set her off, you see." "Well, the young lady has got the world before her—at her feet, I ought to say.—You're looking as bright and fresh as the morning, Miss Quayle." The captain carried off his compliment with a breezy laugh, and went along to the bridge. The girl had heard him only in a momentary flash of consciousness, and she replied merely with a side glance and a smile. Both eyes and ears, and every sense and every faculty, seemed occupied with the scene before her. It was a beautiful spring morning, not yet nine o'clock, but the sun stood high over Douglas Head, and the sunlight was glancing in the harbour from the little waves of the flowing tide. Oars were rattling up the pier, passengers were trooping down the gangways, and the decks fore and aft were becoming thronged. "It's beautiful!" she was saying, not so much to her companions as to herself, and the old parson was laughing at her bursts of rapture over the commonplace scene, and dropping out in reply little driblets of simple talk—sweet, pure nothings—the innocent babble as of a mountain stream. She was taller than the common, and had golden-red hair, and magnificent dark-gray eyes of great size. One of her eyes had a brown spot, which gave at the first glance the effect of a squint, at the next glance a coquettish expression, and ever after a sense of tremendous power and passion. But her most noticeable feature was her mouth, which was somewhat too large for beauty, and was always moving nervously. When she spoke, her voice startled you with its depth, which was a kind of soft hoarseness, but capable of every shade of colour. There was a playful and impetuous raillery in nearly all she said, and everything seemed to be expressed by mind and body at the same time. She moved her body restlessly, and while standing in the same place her feet were always shuffling. Her dress was homely—almost poor—and perhaps a little careless. She appeared to smile and laugh continually, and yet there were tears in her eyes sometimes. The young clergyman was of a good average height, but he looked taller from a certain distinction of figure. When he raised his hat at the captain's greeting he showed a forehead like an arched wall, and a large, close-cropped head. He had a well-formed nose, a powerful chin, and full lips—all very strong and set for one so young. His complexion was dark—almost swarthy—and there was a certain look of the gipsy in his big golden-brown eyes with their long black lashes. He was clean shaven, and the lower part of his face seemed heavy under the splendid fire of the eyes above it. His manner had a sort of diffident restraint; he stood on the same spot without moving, and almost without raising his drooping head; his speech was grave and usually slow and laboured; his voice was bold and full. The second bell had rung, and the old parson was making ready to go ashore. "You'll take care of this runaway, Mr. Storm, and deliver her safely at the door of the hospital?" "I will." "And you'll keep an eye on her in that big Babylon over there?" "If she'll let me, sir." "Yes, indeed, yes; I know she's as unstable as water and as hard to hold as a puff of wind." The girl was laughing again. "You might as well call me a tempest and have done