: Henry Wood
: Trevlyn Hold A Novel 
: OTB eBook publishing
: 9783962724986
: 1
: CHF 1.80
:
: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 400
: kein Kopierschutz
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
The human response to evil is naturally to return evil. This novel shows that unless a spirit of goodness is instilled from very young it is often difficult if not impossible to cultivate one of kindness and generosity. Stealing, lying, cruel tactics are employed to crush those who are weak and helpless. The rich oppress. the poor are repressed. When a dying man is misled to change his will in favor of a son in law the estate ends up in the hands of his daughter's family who are careless and indifferent caretakers. Recompense for evil comes eventually although there is suffering and death. (Amazon)

CHAPTER I


THOMAS RYLE


The fine summer had faded into autumn, and the autumn would soon be fading into winter. All signs of harvest had disappeared. The farmers had gathered the golden grain into their barns; the meads looked bare, and the partridges hid themselves in the stubble left by the reapers.

Perched on the top of a stile which separated one field from another, was a boy of some fifteen years. Several books, a strap passed round to keep them together, were flung over his shoulder, and he sat throwing stones into a pond close by, softly whistling as he did so. The stones came out of his pocket. Whether stored there for the purpose to which they were now being put, was best known to himself. He was a slender, well-made boy, with finely-shaped features, a clear complexion, and eyes dark and earnest. A refined face; a good face—and you have not to learn that the face is the index of the mind. An index that never fails for those gifted with the power to read the human countenance.

Before him at a short distance, as he sat on the stile, lay the village of Barbrook. A couple of miles beyond the village was the large town of Barmester. But you could reach the town without taking the villageen route. As to the village itself, there were several ways of reaching it. There was the path through the fields, right in front of the stile where that schoolboy was sitting; there was the green and shady lane (knee-deep in mud sometimes); and there were two high-roads. From the signs of vegetation around—not that the vegetation was of the richest kind—you would never suspect that the barren and bleak coal-fields lay so near. Only four or five miles away in the opposite direction—that is, behind the boy and the stile—the coal-pits flourished. Farmhouses were scattered within view, had the boy on the stile chosen to look at them; a few gentlemen's houses, and many cottages and hovels. To the left, glancing over the field and across the upper road—the road which did not lead to Barbrook, but to Barmester—on a slight eminence, rose the fine old-fashioned mansion called Trevlyn Hold. Rather to the right, behind him, was the less pretentious but comfortable dwelling called Trevlyn Farm. Trevlyn Hold, formerly the property and residence of Squire T