Guardian and ward -- Fiction; Older men -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
Mrs. HUNGERFORD (Margaret Wolfe Hamilton) (1855?-1897),
A little Rebel (1890) Lovell edition
A LITTLE REBEL
A NOVEL
BY
THE DUCHESS
_Author of "Her Last Throw," "April's Lady,"
"Faith and Unfaith," etc. etc._
Montreal:
JOHN LOVELL & SON,
23 ST. NICHOLAS STREET.
Entered according to Act of Parliament in the year 1891, by John
Lovell & Son, in the office of the Minister of Agriculture and
Statistics at Ottawa.
A LITTLE REBEL.
CHAPTER I.
"Perplex'd in the extreme."
"The memory of past favors is like a rainbow, bright, vivid and
beautiful."
The professor, sitting before his untasted breakfast, is looking the
very picture of dismay. Two letters lie before him; one is in his
hand, the other is on the table-cloth. Both are open; but of one,
the opening lines--that tell of the death of his old friend--are
all he has read; whereas he has read the other from start to finish,
already three times. It is from the old friend himself, written a
week before his death, and very urgent and very pleading. The
professor has mastered its contents with ever-increasing
consternation.
Indeed so great a revolution has it created in his mind, that his
face--(the index of that excellent part of him)--has, for the
moment, undergone a complete change. Any ordinary acquaintance now
entering the professor's rooms (and those acquaintances might be
whittled down to quite a _little_ few), would hardly have known him.
For the abstraction that, as a rule, characterizes his features--the
way he has of looking at you, as if he doesn't see you, that
harasses the simple, and enrages the others--is all gone! Not a
trace of it remains. It has given place to terror, open and
unrestrained.
"A girl!" murmurs he in a feeble tone, falling back in his chair.
And then again, in a louder tone of dismay--"A _girl!"_ He pauses
again, and now again gives way to the fear that is destroying
him--"A _grown_ girl!"
After this, he seems too overcome to continue his reflections, so
goes back to the fatal letter. Every now and then a groan escapes
him, mingled with mournful remarks, and extracts from the sheet in
his hand--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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