The Project Gutenberg EBook of East Lynne, by Mrs Henry Wood This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: East Lynne Author: Mrs Henry Wood Release Date: April 5, 2006 [EBook #3322] Last Updated: November 20, 2016 Language: English *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EAST LYNNE *** Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger EAST LYNNE by Mrs Henry Wood PREPARER’S NOTE This text was prepared from an 1883 edition, New York: John B Alden, Publisher CONTENTS EAST LYNNE CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER IX CHAPTER X CHAPTER XI CHAPTER XII CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XVII CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XIX CHAPTER XX CHAPTER XXI CHAPTER XXII CHAPTER XXIII CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XXV CHAPTER XXVI CHAPTER XXVII CHAPTER XXVIII CHAPTER XXIX CHAPTER XXX CHAPTER XXXI CHAPTER XXXII CHAPTER XXXIII CHAPTER XXXIV CHAPTER XXXV CHAPTER XXXVI CHAPTER XXXVII CHAPTER XXXVIII CHAPTER XXXIX CHAPTER XL CHAPTER XLI CHAPTER XLII CHAPTER XLIII CHAPTER XLIV CHAPTER XLV CHAPTER XLVI CHAPTER XLVII EAST LYNNE CHAPTER I THE LADY ISABEL In an easy-chair of the spacious and handsome library of his town-house, sat William, Earl of Mount Severn His hair was gray, the smoothness of his expansive brow was defaced by premature wrinkles, and his once attractive face bore the pale, unmistakable look of dissipation One of his feet was cased in folds of linen, as it rested on the soft velvet ottoman, speaking of gout as plainly as any foot ever spoke yet It would seem—to look at the man as he sat there— that he had grown old before his time And so he had His years were barely nine and forty, yet in all save years, he was an aged man A noted character had been the Earl of Mount Severn Not that he had been a renowned politician, or a great general, or an eminent statesman, or even an active member in the Upper House; not for any of these had the earl’s name been in the mouths of men But for the most reckless among the reckless, for the spendthrift among spendthrifts, for the gamester above all gamesters, and for a gay man outstripping the gay—by these characteristics did the world know Lord Mount Severn It was said his faults were those of his head; that a better heart or a more generous spirit never beat in human form; and there was much truth in this It had been well for him had he lived and died plain William Vane Up to his five and twentieth year, he had been industrious and steady, had kept his terms in the Temple, and studied late and early The sober application of William Vane had been a by word with the embryo barristers around; Judge Vane, they ironically called him; and they strove ineffectually to allure him away to idleness and pleasure But young Vane was ambitious, and he knew that on his own talents and exertions must depend his own rising in the world He was of excellent family, but poor, counting a relative in the old Earl of Mount Severn The possibility of his succeeding to the earldom never occurred to him, for three healthy lives, two of them young, stood between him and the title Yet those have died off, one of apoplexy, one of fever, in Africa, the third boating at Oxford; and the young Temple student, William Vane, suddenly found himself Earl of Mount Severn, and the lawful possessor of sixty thousand a year His first idea was, that he should never be able to spend the money; that such a sum, year by year, could not be spent It was a wonder his head was not turned by adulation at the onset, for he was courted, flattered and caressed by all classes, from a royal duke downward He became the most attractive man of his day, the lion in society; for independent of his newly-acquired wealth and title, he was of distinguished appearance and fascinating manners But unfortunately, the prudence which had sustained William Vane, the poor law student, in his solitary Temple chambers entirely forsook William Vane, the young Earl of Mount Severn, and he commenced his career on a scale of speed so great, that all staid people said he was going to ruin and the deuce headlong But a peer of the realm, and one whose rent-roll is sixty thousand per annum, does not go to ruin in a day There sat the earl, in his library now, in his nineand-fortieth year, and ruin had not come yet—that is, it had not overwhelmed him But the embarrassments which had clung to him, and been the destruction of his tranquility, the bane of his existence, who shall describe them? The public knew them pretty well, his private friends knew better, his creditors best; but none, save himself knew, or could ever know, the worrying torment that was his portion, wellnigh driving him to distraction Years ago, by dint of looking things steadily in the face, and by economizing, he might have retrieved his position; but he had done what most people in such cases—put off the evil day sine die, and gone on increasing his enormous list of debts The hour of exposure and ruin was now advancing fast Perhaps the earl himself was thinking so, as he sat there before an enormous mass of papers which strewed the library table His thoughts were back in the past That was a foolish match of his, that Gretna Green match for love, foolish so far as prudence went; but the countess had been an affectionate wife to him, had borne with his follies and his neglect, had been an admirable mother to their only child One child alone had been theirs, and in her thirteenth year the countess had died If they had but been blessed with a son—the earl moaned over the long-continued disappointment still—he might have seen a way out of his difficulties The boy, as soon as he was of age, would have joined with him in cutting off the entail, and—— “My lord,” said a servant entering the room and interrupting the earl’s castles in the air, “a gentleman is asking to see you.” “Who?” cried the earl, sharply, not perceiving the card the man was bringing No unknown person, although wearing the externals of a foreign ambassador, was ever admitted unceremoniously to the presence of Lord Mount Severn Years of duns had taught the servants caution “His card is here, my lord It is Mr Carlyle, of West Lynne.” “Mr Carlyle, of West Lynne,” groaned the earl, whose foot just then had an awful twinge, “what does he want? Show him up.” The servant did as he was bid, and introduced Mr Carlyle Look at the visitor well, reader, for he will play his part in this history He was a very tall man of seven and twenty, of remarkably noble presence He was somewhat given to stooping his head when he spoke to any one shorter than himself; it was a peculiar habit, almost to be called a bowing habit, and his father had possessed it before him When told of it he would laugh, and say he was unconscious of doing it His features were good, his complexion was pale and clear, his hair dark, and his full eyelids drooped over his deep gray eyes Altogether it was a countenance that both men and women liked to look upon—the index of an honorable, sincere nature—not that it would have been called a handsome face, so much as a pleasing and a distinguished one Though but the son of a country lawyer, and destined to be a lawyer himself, he had received the training of a gentleman, had been educated at Rugby, and taken his degree at Oxford He advanced at once to the earl, in the straightforward way of a man of business— of a man who has come on business “Mr Carlyle,” said the latter, holding out his hand—he was always deemed the most affable peer of the age—“I am happy to see you You perceive I cannot rise, at least without great pain and inconvenience My enemy, the gout, has possession of me again Take a seat Are you staying in town?” “I have just arrived from West Lynne The chief object of my journey was to see your lordship.” “What can I do for you?” asked the earl, uneasily; for a suspicion had crossed his mind that Mr Carlyle might be acting for some one of his many troublesome creditors Mr Carlyle drew his chair nearer to the earl, and spoke in a low tone,— “A rumor came to my ears, my lord, that East Lynne was in the market.” “A moment, sir,” exclaimed the earl, with reserve, not to say hauteur in his tone, for his suspicions were gaining ground; “are we to converse confidentially together, as men of honor, or is there something concealed behind?” “I do not understand you,” said Mr Carlyle “In a word—excuse my speaking plainly, but I must feel my ground—are you here on the part of some of my rascally creditors, to pump information out of me, that otherwise they would not get?” “My lord,” uttered the visitor, “I should be incapable of so dishonorable an action I know that a lawyer gets credit for possessing but lax notions on the score of honor, but you can scarcely suspect that I should be guilty of underhand work toward you I never was guilty of a mean trick in my life, to my recollection, and I do not think I ever shall be.” “Pardon me, Mr Carlyle If you knew half the tricks and ruses played upon me, you would not wonder at my suspecting all the world Proceed with your business.” “I heard that East Lynne was for private sale; your agent dropped half a word to me in confidence If so, I should wish to be the purchaser.” “For whom?” inquired the earl “Myself.” “You!” laughed the earl “Egad! Lawyering can’t be such bad work, Carlyle.” “Nor is it,” rejoined Mr Carlyle, “with an extensive, first-class connection, such as ours But you must remember that a good fortune was left me by my uncle, and a large one by my father.” “I know The proceeds of lawyering also.” “Not altogether My mother brought a fortune on her marriage, and it enabled my father to speculate successfully I have been looking out for an eligible property to invest my money upon, and East Lynne will suit me well, provided I can have the refusal of it, and we can agree about the terms.” Lord Mount Severn mused for a few moments before he spoke “Mr Carlyle,” he began, “my affairs are very bad, and ready money I must find somewhere Now East Lynne is not entailed, neither is it mortgaged to anything like its value, though the latter fact, as you may imagine, is not patent to the world When I bought it at a bargain, eighteen years ago, you were the lawyer on the other side, I remember.” “My father,” smiled Mr Carlyle “I was a child at the time.” “Of course, I ought to have said your father By selling East Lynne, a few thousands will come into my hands, after claims on it are settled; I have no other means of raising the wind, and that is why I have resolved to part with it But now, understand, if it were known abroad that East Lynne is going from me, I should have a hornet’s nest about my ears; so that it must be disposed of privately Do you comprehend?” “Perfectly,” replied Mr Carlyle “I would as soon you bought it as anyone else, if, as you say, we can agree about terms.” “For your sake I wish it.” Calm enough were the words spoken; and her eyes fell again, and a deep sigh came forth “I am going to William But Lucy and Archibald will be left Oh, do you never be unkind to them! I pray you, visit not their mother’s sin upon their heads! Do not in your love for your later children, lose your love for them!” “Have you seen anything in my conduct that could give rise to fears of this?” he returned, reproach mingled in his sad tone “The children are dear to me, as you once were.” “As I once was Aye, and as I might have been now.” “Indeed you might,” he answered, with emotion “The fault was not mine.” “Archibald, I am on the very threshold of the next world Will you not bless me—will you not say a word of love to me before I pass it! Let what I am, I say, be blotted for the moment from your memory; think of me, if you can, as the innocent, timid child whom you made your wife Only a word of love My heart is breaking for it.” He leaned over her, he pushed aside the hair from her brow with his gentle hand, his tears dropping on her face “You nearly broke mine, when you left me, Isabel,” he whispered “May God bless you, and take you to His rest in Heaven! May He so deal with me, as I now fully and freely forgive you.” What was he about to do? Lower and lower bent his head, until his breath nearly mingled with hers To kiss her? He best knew But, suddenly, his face grew red with a scarlet flush, and he lifted it again Did the form of one, then in a felon’s cell at Lynneborough, thrust itself before him, or that of his absent and unconscious wife? “To His rest in Heaven,” she murmured, in the hollow tones of the departing “Yes, yes I know that God has forgiven me Oh, what a struggle it has been! Nothing but bad feelings, rebellion, and sorrow, and repining, for a long while after I came back here, but Jesus prayed for me, and helped me, and you know how merciful He is to the weary and heavy-laden We shall meet again, Archibald, and live together forever and ever But for that great hope I could hardly die William said mamma would be on the banks of the river, looking out for him; but it is William who is looking for me.” Mr Carlyle released one of his hands; she had taken them both; and with his own white handkerchief, wiped the death-dew from her forehead “It is no sin to anticipate it, Archibald, for there will be no marrying or giving in marriage in Heaven: Christ said so Though we do not know how it will be, my sin will be remembered no more there, and we shall be together with our children forever and forever Keep a little corner in your heart for your poor lost Isabel.” “Yes, yes,” he whispered “Are you leaving me?” she uttered, in a wild tone of pain “You are growing faint, I perceive, I must call assistance.” “Farewell, then; farewell, until eternity,” she sighed, the tears raining from her eyes “It is death, I think, not faintness Oh! but it is hard to part! Farewell, farewell my once dear husband!” She raised her head from the pillow, excitement giving her strength; she clung to his arm; she lifted her face in its sad yearning Mr Carlyle laid her tenderly down again, and suffered his wet cheek to rest upon hers “Until eternity.” She followed him with her eyes as he retreated, and watched him from the room: then turned her face to the wall “It is over Only God now.” Mr Carlyle took an instant’s counsel with himself, stopping at the head of the stairs to do it Joyce, in obedience to a sign from him, had already gone into the sick-chamber: his sister was standing at the door “Cornelia.” She followed him down to the dining-room “You will remain here to-night? With her?” “Do you suppose I shouldn’t?” crossly responded Miss Corny; “where are you off to now?” “To the telegraph office, at present To send for Lord Mount Severn.” “What good can he do?” “None But I shall send for him.” “Can’t one of the servants go just as well as you? You have not finished your dinner; hardly begun it.” He turned his eyes on the dinner-table in a mechanical sort of way, his mind wholly preoccupied, made some remark in answer, which Miss Corny did not catch, and went out On his return his sister met him in the hall, drew him inside the nearest room, and closed the door Lady Isabel was dead Had been dead about ten minutes “She never spoke after you left her, Archibald There was a slight struggle at the last, a fighting for breath, otherwise she went off quite peacefully I felt sure, when I first saw her this afternoon, that she could not last till midnight.” CHAPTER XLVII I M V Lord Mount Severn, wondering greatly what the urgent summons could be for, lost no time in obeying it, and was at East Lynne the following morning early Mr Carlyle had his carriage at the station—his close carriage—and shut up in that he made the communication to the earl as they drove to East Lynne The earl could with difficulty believe it Never had he been so utterly astonished At first he really could not understand the tale “Did she—did she—come back to your house to die?” he blundered “You never took her in? I don’t understand.” Mr Carlyle explained further; and the earl at length understood But he did not recover his perplexed astonishment “What a mad act to come back here Madame Vine! How on earth did she escape detection?” “She did escape it,” said Mr Carlyle “The strange likeness Madame Vine possessed to my first wife did often strike me as being marvelous, but I never suspected the truth It was a likeness, and not a likeness, for every part of her face and form was changed except her eyes, and those I never saw but through those disguising glasses.” The earl wiped his hot face The news had ruffled him no measured degree He felt angry with Isabel, dead though she was, and thankful that Mrs Carlyle was away “Will you see her?” whispered Mr Carlyle as they entered the house “Yes.” They went up to the death-chamber, Mr Carlyle procuring the key It was the only time that he entered it Very peaceful she looked now, her pale features so composed under her white cap and hands Miss Carlyle and Joyce had done all that was necessary; nobody else had been suffered to approach her Lord Mount Severn leaned over her, tracing the former looks of Isabel; and the likeness grew upon him in a wonderful degree “What did she die of?” he asked “She said a broken heart.” “Ah!” said the earl “The wonder is that it did not break before Poor thing! Poor Isabel!” he added, touching her hand, “how she marred her own happiness! Carlyle, I suppose this is your wedding ring?” Mr Carlyle cast his eyes upon the ring “Very probably.” “To think of her never having discarded it!” remarked the earl, releasing the cold hand “Well, I can hardly believe the tale now.” He turned and quitted the room as he spoke Mr Carlyle looked steadfastly at the dead face for a minute or two, his fingers touching the forehead; but what his thoughts or feelings may have been, none can tell Then he replaced the sheet over her face, and followed the earl They descended in silence to the breakfast-room Miss Carlyle was seated at the table waiting for them “Where could all your eyes have been?” exclaimed the earl to her, after a few sentences, referring to the event just passed “Just where yours would have been,” replied Miss Corny, with a touch of her old temper “You saw Madame Vine as well as we did.” “But not continuously Only two or three times in all And I do not remember ever to have seen her without her bonnet and veil That Carlyle should not have recognized her is almost beyond belief.” “It seems so, to speak of it,” said Miss Corny; “but facts are facts She was young and gay, active, when she left here, upright as a dart, her dark hair drawn from her open brow, and flowing on her neck, her cheeks like crimson paint, her face altogether beautiful Madame Vine arrived here a pale, stooping woman, lame of one leg, shorter than Lady Isabel—and her figure stuffed out under those sacks of jackets Not a bit, scarcely, of her forehead to be seen, for gray velvet and gray bands of hair; her head smothered under a close cap, large, blue, double spectacles hiding the eyes and their sides, and the throat tied up; the chin partially The mouth was entirely altered in its character, and that upward scar, always so conspicuous, made it almost ugly Then she had lost some of her front teeth, you know, and she lisped when she spoke Take her for all in all,” summed up Miss Carlyle, “she looked no more like Isabel who went away from here than I look like Adam Just get your dearest friend damaged and disguised as she was, my lord, and see if you’d recognize him.” The observation came home to Lord Mount Severn A gentleman whom he knew well, had been so altered by a fearful accident, that little resemblance could be traced to his former self In fact, his own family could not recognize him: and he used an artificial disguise It was a case in point; and—reader—I assure you it was a true one “It was the disguise that we ought to have suspected,” quietly observed Mr Carlyle “The likeness was not sufficiently striking to cause suspicion.” “But she turned the house from that scent as soon as she came into it,” struck in Miss Corny, “telling of the ‘neuralgic pains’ that affected her head and face, rendering the guarding them from exposure necessary Remember, Lord Mount Severn, that the Ducies had been with her in Germany, and had never suspected her Remember also another thing, that, however great a likeness we may have detected, we could not and did not speak of it, one to another Lady Isabel’s name is never so much as whispered among us.” “True: all true,” nodded the earl And they sat themselves down to breakfast On the Friday, the following letter was dispatched to Mrs Carlyle “MY DEAREST—I find I shall not be able to get to you on Saturday afternoon, as I promised, but will leave here by the late train that night Mind you don’t sit up for me Lord Mount Severn is here for a few days; he sends his regards to you “And now, Barbara, prepare for news that will prove a shock Madame Vine is dead She grew rapidly worse, they tell me, after our departure, and died on Wednesday night I am glad you were away “Love from the children Lucy and Archie are still at Cornelia’s; Arthur wearing out Sarah’s legs in the nursery “Ever yours, my dearest, “ARCHIBALD CARLYLE.” Of course, as Madame Vine, the governess, died at Mr Carlyle’s house, he could not, in courtesy, less than follow her to the grave So decided West Lynne, when they found which way the wind was going to blow Lord Mount Severn followed also, to keep him company, being on a visit to him, and very polite, indeed, of his lordship to it—condescending, also! West Lynne remembered another funeral at which those two had been the only mourners— that of the earl By some curious coincidence the French governess was buried close to the earl’s grave As good there as anywhere else, quoth West Lynne There happened to be a vacant spot of ground The funeral took place on a Sunday morning A plain, respectable funeral A hearse and pair, and mourning coach and pair, with a chariot for the Rev Mr Little No pall-bearers or mutes, or anything of that show-off kind; and no plumes on the horses, only on the hearse West Lynne looked on with approbation, and conjectured that the governess had left sufficient money to bury herself; but, of course, that was Mr Carlyle’s affair, not West Lynne’s Quiet enough lay she in her last resting-place They left her in it, the earl and Mr Carlyle, and entered the mourning-coach, to be conveyed back again to East Lynne “Just a little stone of white marble, two feet high by a foot and a half broad,” remarked the earl, on their road, pursuing a topic they were speaking upon “With the initials ‘I V.’ and the date of the year Nothing more What you think?” “I M V.,” corrected Mr Carlyle “Yes.” At this moment the bells of another church, not St Jude’s, broke out in a joyous peal, and the earl inclined his ear to listen “What can they be ringing for?” he cried They were ringing for a wedding Afy Hallijohn, by the help of two clergymen and six bridesmaids, of which you may be sure Joyce was not one, had just been converted into Mrs Joe Jiffin When Afy took a thing into her head, she somehow contrived to carry it through, and to bend even clergymen and bridesmaids to her will Mr Jiffin was blest at last In the afternoon the earl left East Lynne, and somewhat later Barbara arrived at it Wilson scarcely gave her mistress time to step into the house before her, and she very nearly left the baby in the fly Curiously anxious was Wilson to hear all particulars as to whatever could have took off that French governess Mr Carlyle was much surprised at their arrival “How could I stay away, Archibald, even until Monday, after the news you sent me?” said Barbara “What did she die of? It must have been awfully sudden.” “I suppose so,” was his dreamy answer He was debating a question with himself, one he had thought over a good deal since Wednesday night Should he, or should he not, tell his wife? He would have preferred not to tell her; and, were the secret confined to his own breast, he would decidedly not have done so But it was known to three others—to Miss Carlyle, to lord Mount Severn, and to Joyce All trustworthy and of good intention; but it was impossible for Mr Carlyle to make sure that not one of them would ever, through any chance and unpremeditated word, let the secret come to the knowledge of Mrs Carlyle That would not do, if she must hear it at all, she must hear it from him, and at once He took his course “Are you ill, Archibald?” she asked, noting his face It wore a pale, worn sort of look “I have something to tell you, Barbara,” he answered, drawing her hand into his, as they stood together They were in her dressing-room, where she was taking off her things “On the Wednesday evening when I got home to dinner Joyce told me that she feared Madame Vine was dying, and I thought it right to see her.” “Certainly,” returned Barbara “Quite right.” “I went into her room, and I found that she was dying But I found something else, Barbara She was not Madame Vine.” “Not Madame Vine!” echoed Barbara, believing in good truth that her husband could not know what he was saying “It was my former wife, Isabel Vane.” Barbara’s face flushed crimson, and then grew white as marble; and she drew her hand unconsciously from Mr Carlyle’s He did not appear to notice the movement, but stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece while he talked, giving her a rapid summary of the interview and its details “She could not stay away from her children, she said, and came back as Madame Vine What with the effects of the railroad accident in France, and those spectacles she wore, and her style of dress, and her gray hair, she felt secure in not being recognized I am astonished now that she was not discovered Were such a thing related to me I should give no credence to it.” Barbara’s heart felt faint with its utter sickness, and she turned her face from the view of her husband Her first confused thoughts were as Mr Carlyle’s had been—that she had been living in his house with another wife “Did you suspect her?” she breathed, in a low tone “Barbara! Had I suspected it, should I have allowed it to go on? She implored my forgiveness for the past, and for having returned here, and I gave it to her fully I then went to West Lynne, to telegraph to Mount Severn, and when I came back she was dead.” There was a pause Mr Carlyle began to perceive that his wife’s face was hidden from him “She said her heart was broken Barbara, we cannot wonder at it.” There was no reply Mr Carlyle took his arm from the mantelpiece, and moved so that he could see her countenance: a wan countenance, telling of pain He laid his hand upon her shoulder, and made her look at him “My dearest, what is this?” “Oh, Archibald!” she uttered, clasping her hands together, all her pent up feelings bursting forth, and the tears streaming from her eyes, “has this taken your love from me?” He took both her hands in one of his, he put the other round her waist and held her there, before him, never speaking, only looking gravely into her face Who could look at its sincere truthfulness, at the sweet expression of his lips, and doubt him? Not Barbara She allowed the moment’s excitement to act upon her feelings, and carry her away “I had thought my wife possessed entire trust in me.” “Oh, I do, I do; you know I Forgive me, Archibald,” she slowly whispered “I deemed it better to impart this to you, Barbara Had there been wrong feeling on my part, I should have left you in ignorance My darling, I have told you it in love.” She was leaning on his breast, sobbing gently, her repentant face turned towards him He held her there in his strong protection, his enduring tenderness “My wife! My darling! now and always.” “It was a foolish feeling to cross my heart, Archibald It is done with and gone.” “Never let it come back, Barbara Neither need her name be mentioned again between us A barred name it has hitherto been; so let it continue.” “Anything you will My earnest wish is to please you; to be worthy of your esteem and love, Archibald,” she timidly added, her eye-lids drooping, and her fair cheeks blushing, as she made the confession “There has been a feeling in my heart against your children, a sort of jealous feeling, you can understand, because they were hers; because she had once been your wife I knew how wrong it was, and I have tried earnestly to subdue it I have, indeed, and I think it is nearly gone,” her voice sunk “I constantly pray to be helped to do it; to love them and care for them as if they were my own It will come with time.” “Every good thing will come with time that we may earnestly seek,” said Mr Carlyle “Oh, Barbara, never forget—never forget that the only way to ensure peace in the end is to strive always to be doing right, unselfishly under God.” End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of East Lynne, by Mrs Henry Wood *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EAST LYNNE *** ***** This file should be named 3322-h.htm or 3322-h.zip ***** This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/2/3322/ Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger Updated editions will replace the previous one the old editions will be renamed Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark Project Gutenberg is a 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as Public Domain in the U.S unless a copyright notice is included Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: http://www.gutenberg.org This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks .. .EAST LYNNE by Mrs Henry Wood PREPARER’S NOTE This text was prepared from an 1883 edition, New York: John B Alden, Publisher CONTENTS EAST LYNNE CHAPTER I CHAPTER II... “She was a very lovely child,” observed the lawyer; “I remember that.” “Ay; you have seen her at East Lynne, in her mother’s lifetime But, to return to business If you become the purchaser of the East Lynne estate, Mr Carlyle, it must be under the rose... mile further on you came upon the beautiful estate which was called East Lynne Between the gentlemen’s houses mentioned and East Lynne, the mile of road was very solitary, being much overshadowed with trees