Woven of Many Threads (Classic Reprint) - Softcover

Jamison, C. V.

9781331491149: Woven of Many Threads (Classic Reprint)

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1331491142 ISBN 13: 9781331491149

Verlag: Forgotten Books, 2018

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Excerpt from Woven of Many Threads

F or months Constance was inconsolable, scarcely eating or sleeping, wandering from her sister's grave to her chamber, weeping with her head upon the pillow where she had so Often rested, or pressing her tear stained face almost frantically to the green sod that covered the last. Resting-place of the beloved dead. If it had not been for her brother, who, fearing grief would kill the child, left his studies at Oxford and devoted himself to her, she surely must have succumbed to her deep sorrow. As he tried every means to divert her, she gradually became more cheerful, but never again the light-hearted, happy child she had been before.

Two years after, that idolized brother, in all the strength and glory Of youth, was brought from Oxford to his childhood's home, hopelessly insane. Over-study in preparing to graduate had affected a ner vous excitable temperament, and an already overtasked brain, so as to extinguish for ever the light Of reason. For six months he lingered in that terrible darkness, some times gentle and tractable as a child, or again raving in the strongest and wildest delirium.

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Excerpt from Woven of Many Threads

Helmsford Hall, and the family of Vandeleur, dated back to the reign of Henry VI. There seemed to be a strange fatality connected with the birth of sons, for never but one in each generation lived to reach his majority. It was always Richard Vandeleur of Helmsford, - the name of father and son since the earliest records of the family.

In remote generations there had been many lovely daughters who had married and given children to the noble house, but not to the proud name.

It was a tradition in the family, that, when the War of the Roses ended, and Henry VII. presented his trusty servant and friend, Richard Vandeleur, with the broad lands of Helmsford, he had also offered him a title, which the brave soldier sturdily refused, preferring to be simply Richard Vandeleur, gentleman; and so it had been for all these generations.

In all England there was not a more beautiful estate than Helmsford, or a more imposing country mansion than Helmsford Hall, - a. substantial gray stone construction, of mixed architecture. Around its three sides ran two rows of open porticos, the lower Doric, the upper Ionic. A double flight of massive stone steps led to the, grand entrance, on either side of which were couchant lions, holding between their paws tablets bearing are family coat of arms.

From its high position it commanded a magnificent view of distant mountains, hills, and valleys, and, far beyond, the broad, open sea. In the middle landscape were miles of rich meadow land, dotted here and there with the white cottages of the happy farmers of England. Directly under the eye the broad park and terraced gardens of Helmsf'ord, ornamented with fountains and statues, in the midst of which swept two broad carriage drives from the terraces to the massive gates, bordered on each side with stately oaks and elms. Whichever way the eye turned, one saw the verdant representative of very clime, - pines from the dreary north, magnolia and ilex from the sunny south, and palms from the far-off tropics.

On this day, April 6, 18-, there was the confusion of excited expectation in the appearance of all that appertained to the mansion. For eight years it had been closed, but to-day windows and doors are thrown open, and servants pass in and out with that air of importance that plainly foretells a coming event, for to-night Richard Vandeleur, the heir and last of his name, returns to Helmsford, after an absence of eight years. Within the mansion are unmistakable signs of great joy: the furniture, pictures, and mirrors have laid aside their linen shrouds, and reveal themselves in all their original freshness to the admiring eyes of the new servants. The stately butler is everywhere, giving orders in a kindly, patronizing tone, detecting with equal alacrity a speck of dust in the grand saloon or an unsavory odor in the kitchen.

As the day draws to a close, the housekeeper, in stiff silk, rustles from room to room to see that all is in perfect order. She stops for a moment in the grand corridor, where hang the family portraits, and as she regards the bewitching face of the last Mrs. Vandeleur, she sighs and says audibly: -

"This reminds me of thirty-four years ago, when we were expecting Mr. Vandeleur and his bride. My poor Father was butler then, and I was a slip of a girl wild with delight because there was to be some stir in the house. How lovely she looked that night as she stepped out of the carriage and came tripping up to the door, with a sweet smile and gentle word to all! Ah, how soon her bright eyes closed on her young life, leaving the little wailing baby, and my poor master heart-broken! Though he lived ten years after her death, I never saw him smile in all that time. The day she went out of the door in her coffin, sadness seemed to enter, for ever since all has been dull and gloomy. "If Mr. Vandeleur were only bringing n young wife home with him, things might