THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES. Meredith Nicholson

       Meredith Nicholson

      THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES

      Published by

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      2018 OK Publishing

      ISBN 978-80-272-4397-6

Table of Contents

       CHAPTER I THE WILL OF JOHN MARSHALL GLENARM

       CHAPTER II A FACE AT SHERRY’S

       CHAPTER III THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES

       CHAPTER IV A VOICE FROM THE LAKE

       CHAPTER V A RED TAM-O’-SHANTER

       CHAPTER VI THE GIRL AND THE CANOE

       CHAPTER VII THE MAN ON THE WALL

       CHAPTER VIII A STRING OF GOLD BEADS

       CHAPTER IX THE GIRL AND THE RABBIT

       CHAPTER X AN AFFAIR WITH THE CARETAKER

       CHAPTER XI I RECEIVE A CALLER

       CHAPTER XII I EXPLORE A PASSAGE

       CHAPTER XIII A PAIR OF EAVESDROPPERS

       CHAPTER XIV THE GIRL IN GRAY

       CHAPTER XV I MAKE AN ENGAGEMENT

       CHAPTER XVI THE PASSING OF OLIVIA

       CHAPTER XVII SISTER THERESA

       CHAPTER XVIII GOLDEN BUTTERFLIES

       CHAPTER XIX I MEET AN OLD FRIEND

       CHAPTER XX A TRIPLE ALLIANCE

       CHAPTER XXI PICKERING SERVES NOTICE

       CHAPTER XXII THE RETURN OF MARIAN DEVEREUX

       CHAPTER XXIII THE DOOR OF BEWILDERMENT

       CHAPTER XXIV A PROWLER OF THE NIGHT

       CHAPTER XXV BESIEGED

       CHAPTER XXVI THE FIGHT IN THE LIBRARY

       CHAPTER XXVII CHANGES AND CHANCES

       CHAPTER XXVIII SHORTER VISTAS

       CHAPTER XXIX AND SO THE LIGHT LED ME

      CHAPTER I

       THE WILL OF JOHN MARSHALL GLENARM

       Table of Contents

      Pickering’s letter bringing news of my grandfather’s death found me at Naples early in October. John Marshall Glenarm had died in June. He had left a will which gave me his property conditionally, Pickering wrote, and it was necessary for me to return immediately to qualify as legatee. It was the merest luck that the letter came to my hands at all, for it had been sent to Constantinople, in care of the consul-general instead of my banker there. It was not Pickering’s fault that the consul was a friend of mine who kept track of my wanderings and was able to hurry the executor’s letter after me to Italy, where I had gone to meet an English financier who had, I was advised, unlimited money to spend on African railways. I am an engineer, a graduate of an American institution familiarly known as “Tech,” and as my funds were running low, I naturally turned to my profession for employment.

      But this letter changed my plans, and the following day I cabled Pickering of my departure and was outward bound on a steamer for New York. Fourteen days later I sat in Pickering’s office in the Alexis Building and listened intently while he read, with much ponderous emphasis, the provisions of my grandfather’s will. When he concluded, I laughed. Pickering was a serious man, and I was glad to see that my levity pained him. I had, for that matter, always been a source of annoyance to him, and his look of distrust and rebuke did not trouble me in the least.

      I reached across the table for the paper, and he gave the sealed and beribboned copy of John Marshall Glenarm’s will into my hands. I read it through for myself, feeling conscious meanwhile that Pickering’s cool gaze was bent inquiringly upon me. These are the paragraphs that interested me most:

      I give and bequeath unto my said grandson, John Glenarm, sometime a resident of the City and State of New York, and later a vagabond of parts unknown, a certain property known as Glenarm House, with the land thereunto pertaining and hereinafter more particularly described, and all personal property of whatsoever kind thereunto belonging and attached thereto, — the said realty lying in the County of Wabana in the State of Indiana, — upon this condition, faithfully and honestly performed:

      That said John Glenarm shall remain for the period of one year an occupant of said Glenarm House and my lands attached thereto, demeaning himself meanwhile in an orderly and temperate manner. Should he fail at any time during said year to comply with this provision, said property shall revert to my general estate and become, without reservation, and without necessity for any process of law, the property, absolutely, of Marian Devereux, of the County and State of New York.

      “Well,” he demanded, striking his hands upon the arms of his chair, “what do you think of it?”

      For the life of me I could not help laughing again. There was, in the first place, a delicious irony in the fact that I should learn through him of my grandfather’s wishes with respect to myself. Pickering and I had grown up in the same town in Vermont; we had