Jacqueline of Golden River

Jacqueline of Golden River

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Title: Jacqueline of Golden River
Author: H. M. Egbert
Illustrator: Ralph Pallen Coleman
Release Date: September 28, 2005 [EBook #16771]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK
JACQUELINE OF GOLDEN RIVER ***

Produced by Al Haines

[Frontispiece: He went without a backward glance . . . and I knew what
the parting meant to him.]

JACQUELINE OF GOLDEN RIVER
BY
H. M. EGBERT

FRONTISPIECE
BY
RALPH PALLEN COLEMAN

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
GARDEN CITY ---------- NEW YORK
1920

COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF
TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES
INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY

CONTENTS

I. A DOG AND A DAMSEL II. BACK IN THE ROOM III.
COVERING THE TRACKS IV. SIMON LEROUX V. M. LE CURÉ
VI. AT THE FOOT OF THE CLIFF VII. CAPTAIN DUBOIS VIII.
DREAMS OF THE NIGHT IX. THE FUNGUS X. SNOW
BLINDNESS XI. THE CHÂTEAU XII. UNDER THE MOUNTAINS
XIII. THE ROULETTE-WHEEL XIV. SOME PLAIN SPEAKING XV.
WON--AND LOST XVI. THE OLD ANGEL XVII. LOUIS
D'EPERNAY XVIII. THE LITTLE DAGGER XIX. THE HIDDEN
CHAMBER XX. AT SWORDS' POINTS XXI. THE BAIT THAT
LURED XXII. SURRENDER XXIII. LEROUX'S DIABLE XXIV.
FULL CONFESSION XXV. THE END OF THE CHÂTEAU

JACQUELINE OF GOLDEN RIVER
CHAPTER I
A DOG AND A DAMSEL
As I sat on a bench in Madison Square after half past eleven in the
evening, at the end of one of those mild days that sometimes occur in
New York even at the beginning of December, a dog came trotting up
to me, stopped at my feet, and whined.
There is nothing remarkable in having a strange dog run to one nor in
seeing the creature rise on its hind legs and paw at you for notice and a
caress. Only, this happened to be an Eskimo dog.
It might have been mistaken for a collie or a sheepdog by nearly
everybody who saw it, though most men would have turned to admire
the softness of its fur and to glance at the heavy collar with the silver
studs. But I knew the Eskimo breed, having spent a summer in
Labrador.
I stroked the beast, which lay down at my feet, raising its head
sometimes to whine, and sometimes darting off a little way and coming
back to tug at the lower edge of my overcoat. But my mind was too

much occupied for me to take any but a perfunctory interest in its
manoeuvres. My eight years of thankless drudgery as a clerk, following
on a brief adventurous period after I ran away to sea from my English
home, had terminated three days before, upon receipt of a legacy, and I
had at once left Tom Carson's employment.
Six thousand guineas--thirty thousand dollars--the will said. I had not
seen my uncle since I was a boy. But he had been a bachelor, we were
both Hewletts, and I had been named Paul after him.
I had seen for some time that Carson meant to get rid of me. It had been
a satisfaction to me to get rid of him instead.
He had been alternately a prospector and a company promoter all the
working years of his rather shabby life. He had organized some dubious
concerns; but his new offices on Broadway were fitted so
unostentatiously that anyone could see the Northern Exploitation
Company was not trying to glitter for the benefit of the small investor.
Coal fields and timber-land somewhere in Canada, the concession was
supposed to be. But Tom was as secretive as a clam, except with Simon
Leroux.
Leroux was a parish politician from some place near Quebec, and his
clean-shaven, wrinkled face was as hard and mean as that of any city
boss in the United States. His vile Anglo-French expletives were as
nauseous as his cigars. He and old Tom used to be closeted together for
hours at a time.
I never liked the man, and I never cared for Carson's business ways. I
was glad to leave him the day after my legacy arrived.
He only snorted when I gave him notice, and told the cashier to pay me
my salary to date. He had long before summed me up as a spiritless
drudge. I don't believe he gave another thought to me after I left his
office.
My plans were vague. I