A Vanished Hand. Sarah Doudney

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       Sarah Doudney

      A Vanished Hand

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066239480

Table of Contents

       CHAPTER I

       IN A BACK ROOM

       CHAPTER II

       WHAT WAS WRITTEN

       CHAPTER III

       TAKING COUNSEL

       CHAPTER IV

       MRS. TRYON

       CHAPTER V

       MRS. BEATON

       CHAPTER VI

       HAROLD AND META

       CHAPTER VII

       MRS. PENN

       CHAPTER VIII

       LOOKING AT PICTURES

       CHAPTER IX

       MEETINGS

       CHAPTER X

       LONELINESS

       CHAPTER XI

       MRS. VERDON

       CHAPTER XII

       HIS FIRST VISIT

       CHAPTER XIII

       IN PORTMAN SQUARE

       CHAPTER XIV

       RUSHBROOK

       "IT WAS A GOOD SPOT FOR A REVERIE."

       CHAPTER XV

       WAYNE'S COURT

       CHAPTER XVI

       GOING TO CHURCH

       CHAPTER XVII

       THE PICNIC

       CHAPTER XVIII

       THE ISLAND

       CHAPTER XIX

       CONCLUSION

CHAPTER I

       Table of Contents

IN A BACK ROOM

       Table of Contents

      "For one shall grasp, and one resign,

       One drink life's rue, and one its wine,

       And God shall make the balance good."

      —Whittier.

      Elsie Kilner had a battle to fight, and it must be fought after her own fashion. It was the kind of battle which is fought every day and every hour; but the battlefield is always a silent place, and there is neither broken weapon nor crimson stain to tell us where the strife has been.

      Elsie's battle was fought in a back room in All Saints' Street on an afternoon in March. It was not a gloomy room; although the window looked out upon walls and roofs and chimneys, she had a good clear view of the sky. Some pigeons occupied a little house outside one of the neighbouring windows, and there was a roof covered with red tiles on which they loved to strut and plume their feathers in the sunshine.

      To a woman country-born the sight of pigeons and red tiles called up visions of an old home. The memories which came to Elsie in her London room were as fresh and sweet as the breath of early spring flowers.

      She could see again the red manor-house among the Sussex hills, and the old green garden which winter could never quite despoil. The cherry-tree spread its boughs close to her window, and seemed to fill the room with the delicate dewy light of its blossoms; the winds came blowing in, sweet and chill, from thymy common and "sheep-trimmed down."

      Perhaps she had never seen her home so plainly with her bodily eyes as she saw it now in imagination. Our everyday blessings are too common to be looked at in their true light; but when time and change have put them far away from us we see them in all their beauty.

      "It makes me feel desperate," she said half aloud to herself.

      She had a dark, delicate face, as changeful as an April