TOP
/0/16147/coverbig.jpg?v=20210813185732&imageMogr2/format/webp)
The House on the Moor, v. 2/3 by Mrs. Oliphant
(etext transcriber's note)
THE HOUSE ON THE MOOR
BY
THE AUTHOR OF
"MARGARET MAITLAND," "ADAM GRAEME,"
"THE LAIRD OF NORLAW,"
&c., &c.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,
SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
/0/9090/coverorgin.jpg?v=a8c01c2af4bb0863281fa24c398179ae&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Literature
Margaret Oliphant was one of the most prolific and popular writers of her day. Her domestic novels are steeped in the broad social, political, and religious worlds of the Victorian era, and her Chronicles of Carlingford series stands as an insightful portrait of English life. 'Phoebe ,Junior', the last of this series, examines Victorian class dynamics by following the social mobility of one family and the effects of this mobility on the daughter, Phoebe.
/0/801/coverorgin.jpg?v=20171121195443&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Modern
OUT of the darkest depths of life, where vice and crime and misery abound, comes the Byron of the twentieth century, the poet of the vagabond and the proletariat, Maxim Gorky. Not like the beggar, humbly imploring for a crust in the name of the Lord, nor like the jeweller displaying his precious stones to dazzle and tempt the eye, he comes to the world,— nay, in accents of Tyrtaeus this commoner of Nizhni Novgorod spurs on his troops of freedom-loving heroes to conquer, as it were, the placid, self- satisfied literatures of to-day, and bring new life to pale, bloodless frames.
/0/1818/coverorgin.jpg?v=20171122135133&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Romance
These words were spoken in the garden of Dinglefield Rectory on a very fine summer day a few years ago. The speaker was Mr. Damerel, the rector, a middle-aged man with very fine, somewhat worn features, a soft benignant smile, and, as everybody said who knew him, the most charming manners in the world. He was a man of very elegant mind as well as manners. He did not preach often, but when he did preach all the educated persons in his congregation felt that they had very choice fare indeed set before them. I am afraid the poor folk liked the curate best, but then the curate liked them best, and it mattered very little to any man or woman of refinement what sentiment existed between the cottagers and the curate. Mr. Damerel was perfectly kind and courteous to everybody, gentle and simple, who came in his way, but he was not fond of poor people in the abstract.
/0/1702/coverorgin.jpg?v=20171122140014&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Literature
I THOUGHT I heard a slight rustle, as if Sarah had taken off her spectacles, but I was really so interested in the matter which I was then discussing with Mr. Cresswell, our solicitor, that I did not look round, as I certainly should have done in any other circumstances; but imagine my utter amazement and the start which Mr. Cresswell gave, nearly upsetting the ink on the drab table-cover, which never could have got the better of it, when my sister Sarah, who never speaks except to me, and then only in a whisper, pronounced distinctly, loud out, the following words: “His Christian name was Richard Arkwright; he was called after the cotton-spinner; that was the chief thing against him in my father’s days.”
/1/106586/coverorgin.jpg?v=de567a5cceb7bace5e472a78e65f368c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
I thought I was waking up in the arms of Arthur, the man I loved. But as the morning light hit the Hamptons estate, the man buttoning his cuffs by the window turned around with eyes like chips of ice. It was Augustus Riddle, Arthur’s cruel younger brother, and I had just spent the night whispering confessions of love into the wrong man's ear. The night I thought was a beautiful beginning turned into a devastating nightmare. Instead of comfort, Gus treated me like a stain on his expensive carpet, scribbling a check for "services rendered" before shoving me into a dark service corridor to hide my existence from his brother. "How much does it cost to buy your silence?" He sneered, before leaving me barefoot in a torrential downpour while he drove away in a luxury Cadillac. Four years later, I am a struggling actress in Los Angeles, working double shifts as a barista just to keep the lights on. My life was finally stable until my roommate dragged me to a high-end dinner to meet her new "influential" boyfriend. The man sitting at the table, looking more arrogant and lethal than ever, was Augustus. He spent the entire night humiliating me, calling me a pathetic amateur and a social climber in front of my only friends. When I fled into the rain and collapsed on the sidewalk, skinning my knee until I bled, he watched from his car. He saw me clutching a plastic baggie containing the taped-together pieces of that four-year-old check—the only proof of my shame. He looked at me like roadkill, rolled up his window, and drove off into the dark. I couldn't understand why he was doing this. Why did he hate me enough to crush me, yet remember that I couldn't handle the smell of cigarette smoke? Why did he leave me bleeding in the street, only to send expensive medical supplies and coffee to my door the very next morning? "I'm moving out." I told my roommates, realizing that Gus Riddle didn't just want to destroy me; he wanted to haunt me. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out with eighty dollars to my name, finally ready to disappear into the city before he could burn the rest of my life to the ground.
/1/105057/coverorgin.jpg?v=202d59641d5f8e56e9f4255b2bc60b1e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rain hammered against the asphalt as my sedan spun violently into the guardrail on the I-95. Blood trickled down my temple, stinging my eyes, while the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers mocked my panic. Trembling, I dialed my husband, Clive. His executive assistant answered instead, his voice professional and utterly cold. "Mr. Wilson says to stop the theatrics. He said, and I quote, 'Hang up. Tell her I don’t have time for her emotional blackmail tonight.'" The line went dead while I was still trapped in the wreckage. At the hospital, I watched the news footage of Clive wrapping his jacket around his "fragile" ex-girlfriend, Angelena, shielding her from the storm I was currently bleeding in. When I returned to our penthouse, I found a prenatal ultrasound in his suit pocket, dated the day he claimed to be on a business trip. Instead of an apology, Clive met me with a sneer. He told me I was nothing but an "expensive decoration" his father bought to make him look stable. He froze my bank accounts and cut off my cards, waiting for the hunger to drive me back to his feet. I stared at the man I had loved for four years, realizing he didn't just want a wife; he wanted a prop he could switch off. He thought he could starve me into submission while he played father to another woman's child. But Clive forgot one thing. Before I was his trophy wife, I was Starfall—the legendary voice actress who vanished at the height of her fame. "I'm not jealous, Clive. I'm done." I grabbed my old microphone and walked out. I’m not just leaving him; I’m taking the lead role in the biggest saga in Hollywood—the one Angelena is desperate for. This time, the "decoration" is going to burn his world down.
/0/87013/coverorgin.jpg?v=03a545cda7f62154e8e6e3fea8e07fc4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.
/0/65655/coverorgin.jpg?v=f3421ab9cd92c9bb209515359c435991&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rumors said that Lucas married an unattractive woman with no background. In the three years they were together, he remained cold and distant to Belinda, who endured in silence. Her love for him forced her to sacrifice her self-worth and her dreams. When Lucas' true love reappeared, Belinda realized that their marriage was a sham from the start, a ploy to save another woman's life. She signed the divorce papers and left. Three years later, Belinda returned as a surgical prodigy and a maestro of the piano. Lost in regret, Lucas chased her in the rain and held her tightly. "You are mine, Belinda."
/1/101068/coverorgin.jpg?v=f6ab5c1b8c897b9c5868c7166ea93748&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Kathryn was the true daughter, but Jolene stole her life and set her up for ruin. After a brutal kidnapping scheme, Kathryn's loyalty to her brothers and fiancé was met with cruel betrayal. Narrowly escaping, she chose to cut all ties and never forgive them. Then she shocked the world: the miracle doctor for the elite, a top-tier hacker, a financial mastermind, and now the untouchable star her family could only watch from afar. Her brothers begged, her parents pleaded, her ex wanted her back-Kathryn exposed them all. The world gasped as the richest man confessed his love for her.
/0/77278/coverorgin.jpg?v=e33b5a48fd64490b6c3dab31c8798b9a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Elliana, the unfavored "ugly duckling" of her family, was humiliated by her stepsister, Paige, who everyone admired. Paige, engaged to the CEO Cole, was the perfect woman-until Cole married Elliana on the day of the wedding. Shocked, everyone wondered why he chose the "ugly" woman. As they waited for her to be cast aside, Elliana stunned everyone by revealing her true identity: a miracle healer, financial mogul, appraisal prodigy, and AI genius. When her mistreatment became known, Cole revealed Elliana's stunning, makeup-free photo, sending shockwaves through the media. "My wife doesn't need anyone's approval."
The House on the Moor, v. 2/3
Mrs. Oliphant
Literature
Chapter 1 , II., III., IV., V., VI., VII., VIII., IX., X., XI., XII., XIII., XIV., XV., XVI., XVII., XVIII., XIX., XX., XXI., XXII., XXIII., XXIV., XXV., XXVI., , XXVII.
06/12/2017
Chapter 2 No.2
06/12/2017


Other books by Mrs. Oliphant
More