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Martin Conisby's Vengeance by Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952
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A word from our supporters: File extension JSP | Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and PG Distributed Proofreaders MARTIN CONISBY'S VENGEANCE BY JEFFERY FARNOL 1921 TO MY DEAR AUNTS MRS. MARRIOTT AND MISS JEFFERY "AUNTIE KIZ" I DEDICATE THIS BOOK CONTENTS CHAPTER I HOW MY SOLITUDE CAME TO AN END II MY TROUBLES BEGIN III HOW I HEARD A SONG THAT I KNEW IV HOW I LABOURED TO MY SALVATION V TELLETH HOW ALL MY TRAVAIL CAME TO NOUGHT VI HOW I SUCCOURED ONE DON FEDERIGO, A GENTLEMAN OF SPAIN VII I AM DETERMINED ON MY VENGEANCE, AND MY REASONS THEREFOR VIII HOW THE DAYS OF MY WATCHING WERE ACCOMPLISHED IX WE FALL AMONG PIRATES X HOW I CAME ABOARD THE _HAPPY DESPATCH_ AND OF MY SUFFERINGS THERE XI HOW I FOUGHT IN THE DARK WITH ONE POMPEY, A GREAT BLACKAMOOR XII OF BATTLE, MURDER AND RESOLUTION DAY, HIS POINT OF VIEW XIII HOW WE FOUGHT AN ENGLISH SHIP XIV TELLETH HOW THE FIGHT ENDED XV HOW I FELL IN WITH MY FRIEND, CAPTAIN SIR ADAM PENFEATHER XVI HOW I HAD WORD WITH MY LADY, JOAN BRANDON XVII TELLETH THE OUTCOME OF MY PRIDEFUL FOLLY XVIII OF ROGER TRESSADY AND HOW THE SILVER WOMAN CLAIMED HER OWN AT LAST XIX HOW JOANNA CHANGED HER MIND XX I GO TO SEEK MY VENGEANCE XXI HOW I CAME TO NOMBRE DE DIOS XXII HOW AT LAST I FOUND MY ENEMY, RICHARD BRANDON XXIII HOW I FOUND MY SOUL XXIV OF OUR ADVENTURE AT SEA XXV WE ARE DRIVEN ASHORE XXVI OUR DESPERATE SITUATION XXVII WE COMMENCE OUR JOURNEY XXVIII WE FALL IN WITH ONE ATLAMATZIN, AN INDIAN CHIEF XXIX TELLETH SOMEWHAT OF A STRANGE CITY XXX WE RESUME OUR JOURNEY XXXI I MEET A MADMAN XXXII HOW I FOUND MY BELOVED AT LAST XXXIII OF DREAMS XXXIV OF LOVE XXXV OF THE COMING OF ADAM AND OF OUR GREAT JOY THEREIN MARTIN CONISBY'S VENGEANCE CHAPTER I HOW MY SOLITUDE CAME TO AN END "Justice, O God, upon mine enemy. For the pain I suffer, may I see him suffer; for the anguish that is mine, so may I watch his agony! Thou art a just God, so, God of Justice, give to me vengeance!" And having spoken this, which had been my prayer for three weary years, I composed myself to slumber. But even so, I started up broad awake and my every nerve a-tingle, only to see the moonlight flooding my solitude and nought to hear save the rustle of the soft night wind beyond the open door of the cave that was my habitation and the far-off, never-ceasing murmur that was the voice of those great waters that hemmed me in,--a desolate ocean where no ships ever sailed, a trackless waste that stretched away to the infinite blue. Crouched upon my bed I fell vaguely a-wondering what should have roused me, hearkening to the distant roar of the surf that seemed to me now plaintive and despairing, now full of an ominous menace that banished gentle sleep. Thereupon I must needs bethink me how often I had waked thus during my long and weary sojourn on this lonely island; how many times I had leapt from slumber, fancying I heard a sound of oars or voices hailing cheerily beyond the reef, or again (and this most often and bitterest phantasy of all) a voice, soft and low yet with a wondrous sweet and vital ring, the which as I knew must needs sound within my dreams henceforth,--a voice out of the past that called upon my name: "Martin--Oh, Martin!" |