Publisher's Synopsis
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1899 edition. Excerpt: ... xl "The King hath dispossessed himself of us. We will not line his thin bestained cloak With our pure honours." Shakespeare. There was, a mile outside the town gates, a little outlying powder-magazine, recently constructed upon the latest, most approved system, and therefore jealously guarded from lay trespassers. Its outer ditch was trimmed, turfed, and sheltered. It was an ideal recess for a little affair of honour. In the golden evening light the shadow of a certain group fell long and black upon the sward as they went through a set of grave manoeuvres with as much precision and apparent placidity as if they were carrying out some solemn pavane. The simultaneous sound of two shots that rang out in the still air only disturbed a flight of settling rooks, and evoked the imprudent curiosity of a flying sentry, who, at sight of the officer's uniform, dared not interrupt his tramp. The long shadows had not grown another inch when three figures in dark civilian clothes quietly took their way back again to the town, while the last rays of the sun splashed against the brilliant uniforms of the other four whom they left in possession of the field--one stretched at full length upon the sod, another bending over him with a glittering case by his side, the remaining two earnestly conversing together. There was a certain gravity on the faces of the homeward-bound; they talked in low voices, as men do under the influence of a solemn occurrence. "Your ball is in his hip, Michael," said Neuberg. "I merely gave a look at him, but, as I live, Sachs will never ride again." "How horribly he cursed!" said Rochester, who could hardly control his shaking limbs sufficiently to enable him to proceed at Spencer's side, and who, ashamed of his weakness beside...