Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net COBWEBS AND CABLES. BY HESBA STRETTON, AUTHOR OF "THROUGH A NEEDLE'S EYE," "IN PRISON AND OUT," "BEDE'S CHARITY," ETC. NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. _AUTHOR'S CARD._ _It is my wish that Messrs. Dodd, Mead & Company alone should publish this story in the United States, and I appeal to the generosity and courtesy of other Publishers, to allow me to gain some benefit from my work on the American as well as English side of the Atlantic._ _HESBA STRETTON._ CONTENTS. PART I. CHAPTER I. ABSCONDED II. PHEBE MARLOWE III. FELICITA IV. UPFOLD FARM V. A CONFESSION VI. THE OLD BANK VII. AN INTERRUPTED DAY-DREAM VIII. THE SENIOR PARTNER IX. FAST BOUND X. LEAVING RIVERSBOROUGH XI. OLD MARLOWE XII. RECKLESS OF LIFE XIII. SUSPENSE XIV. ON THE ALTAR STEPS XV. A SECOND FRAUD XVI. PARTING WORDS XVII. WAITING FOR THE NEWS XVIII. THE DEAD ARE FORGIVEN XIX. AUTHOR AND PUBLISHER XX. A DUMB MAN'S GRIEF XXI. PLATO AND PAUL XXII. A REJECTED SUITOR XXIII. ANOTHER OFFER XXIV. AT HOME IN LONDON XXV. DEAD TO THE WORLD PART II. CHAPTER I. AFTER MANY YEARS II. CANON PASCAL III. FELICITA'S REFUSAL IV. TAKING ORDERS V. A LONDON CURACY VI. OTHER PEOPLE'S SINS VII. AN OLD MAN'S PARDON VIII. THE GRAVE AT ENGELBERG IX. THE LOWEST DEEPS X. ALICE PASCAL XI. COMING TO HIMSELF XII. A GLIMPSE INTO PARADISE XIII. A LONDON GARRET XIV. HIS FATHER'S SIN XV. HAUNTING MEMORIES XVI. THE VOICE OF THE DEAD XVII. NO PLACE FOR REPENTANCE XVIII. WITHIN AND WITHOUT XIX. IN HIS FATHER'S HOUSE XX. AS A HIRED SERVANT XXI. PHEBE'S SECRET XXII. NEAR THE END XXIII. THE MOST MISERABLE XXIV. FOR ONE MOMENT XXV. THE FINAL RESOLVE XXVI. IN LUCERNE XXVII. HIS OWN CHILDREN XXVIII. AN EMIGRATION SCHEME XXIX. FAREWELL XXX. QUITE ALONE XXXI. LAST WORDS COBWEBS AND CABLES PART I. CHAPTER I. ABSCONDED. Late as it was, though the handsome office-clock on the chimney-piece had already struck eleven, Roland Sefton did not move. He had not stirred hand or foot for a long while now; no more than if he had been bound fast by many strong cords, which no effort could break or untie. His confidential clerk had left him two hours ago, and the undisturbed stillness of night had surrounded him ever since he had listened to his retreating footsteps. "Poor Acton!" he had said half aloud, and with a heavy sigh. As he sat there, his clasped hands resting on his desk and his face hidden on them, all his life seemed to unfold itself before him; not in painful memories of the past only, but in terrified prevision of the black future.