Families -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction
Transcriber’s Note
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WITHIN THESE WALLS
[Illustration: Decoration]
WITHIN THESE WALLS
By
RUPERT HUGHES
_Author of_
“SOULS FOR SALE,” “CLIPPED WINGS”
“THE THIRTEENTH COMMANDMENT”
“WHAT WILL PEOPLE SAY”
[Illustration: Decoration]
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
1923
WITHIN THESE WALLS
Copyright, 1923
By Harper & Brothers
Printed in the U.S.A.
_First Edition_
ILLUSTRATIONS
“HOW WICKED WE ARE! HOW WICKED!” _Facing p._ 90
THE SUNLIGHT THAT MADE A SHIMMERING AUREOLE
ABOUT HER FLASHED IN HER EYES, SHINING WITH
THE TEARS OF RAPTURE ” 118
“SWEAR THAT YOU WILL NEVER MENTION JUD
LASHER’S NAME TO ANYBODY” ” 156
WITHIN THESE WALLS
WITHIN THESE WALLS
CHAPTER I
He called that tulip tree “the bouquet of God,” because it was more
like a Titan’s handful of flowers than a tree.
Yet it stood a hundred and fifty feet high, and the stem of it was so
large that a man and a girl together could just touch hands about its
bole by stretching their arms to full length in a double embrace, and
leaning their cheeks against its bark, deep-fluted as a Corinthian
column.
This afternoon it meant a torch of welcome on the peak of the last
hill; and it was stirred into yellow flame by the breeze that stroked
its multitudinous blossoms.
Beneath it, the house looked small, cuddling in the shadow, its roof
all pied yellow and green with the fallen saffron petals of the
orange-stained tulip cups, with the stripped sheaths of leaf and
flower, and the broad, blunt, glossy leaves, and the pistils and
stamens shredded and powdery.
To David RoBards the house was home, and never so much home as now that
he fled to it with his bride from New York, and from the cholera that
had begun another of its grisly pilgrimages about the world. Leaving
its religious home in India and traversing Asia and Europe, it had
finally stridden overseas to Canada; drifted across the lakes to the
new village of Chicago, and descended the Mississippi to devastate New
Orleans. In the meanwhile it had crept down the Hudson to where New
York’s two hundred thousand souls waited helpless and shuddering.
Invisible devils of pestilence were darting everywhere now, wringing
the vitals of the city to an agony, and flinging rich and poor
to the cobblestones in such foul and twisted anguishes that the
scavengers recoiled, and the nearest of kin or of love shrank away
with gorges rising and bowels melting, not with pity, but with fear.
In Bellevue Hospital the dead lay on the floor so thickly strewn that
the overworked physicians could hardly move about among them. And the
nurses detailed from the prison took to drink and fought across the
beds of the dying or slept off their liquor on a mattress of corpses.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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