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- Wydawca: KtoCzyta.pl
- Kategoria: Kryminał
- Język: polski
This is one of the final stories about Frank Merriwell. It would seem that we still may not know about our hero. We already live his life and know enough. However, Burt L. Standish left the most interesting thing at the end. The intriguing development of the plot. Read to the end.
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Liczba stron: 318
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Contents
CHAPTER I. A NEW LIFE
CHAPTER II. THE BIRTHMARK
CHAPTER III. ON THE VERANDA
CHAPTER IV. A MAID OF MYSTERY
CHAPTER V. THE SURPRISE
CHAPTER VI. THE FACE IN THE WATCH
CHAPTER VII. A BLACK SAMSON
CHAPTER VIII. THE SUBSTITUTES
CHAPTER IX. SPARKFAIR'S HIT
CHAPTER X. A MOONLIGHT MEETING
CHAPTER XI. THE TRUTH
CHAPTER XII. A HEART LAID BARE
CHAPTER XIII. THE PLEDGE OF FAITH
CHAPTER XIV. THE SIGNAL FOR SILENCE
CHAPTER XV. KIDNAPED!
CHAPTER XVI. FOR THE SAKE OF OLD DAYS
CHAPTER XVII. A CALL TO THE "FLOCK."
CHAPTER XVIII. A MAN OF THE PEOPLE
CHAPTER XIX. AN INTRUDER
CHAPTER XX. OLD FRIENDS EN ROUTE
CHAPTER XXI. AT MERRY HOME
CHAPTER XXII. ANOTHER PILGRIM
CHAPTER XXIII. IN THE NOOK
CHAPTER XXIV. ON THE CLIFF
CHAPTER XXV. A STARTLING DISCOVERY
CHAPTER XXVI. A LIVELY GAME
CHAPTER XXVII. MURILLO'S FAREWELL
CHAPTER XXVIII. A COMPACT
CHAPTER XXIX. THE PROOF
CHAPTER XXX. THE EDUCATED HORSE
CHAPTER XXXI. A CHALLENGE
CHAPTER XXXII. A HARD PROPOSITION
CHAPTER XXXIII. THE VOICE OF THE TEMPTER
CHAPTER XXXIV. A TROUBLED MIND
CHAPTER XXXV. REMORSE
CHAPTER XXXVI. A FRIEND WORTH HAVING
CHAPTER XXXVII. A PROTEST
CHAPTER XXXVIII. A CONFESSION
CHAPTER XXXIX. JOLTS FOR BULLIES
CHAPTER XL. A DETERMINED FRONT
CHAPTER XLI. THE HOUR AND THE MAN
CHAPTER I
A NEW LIFE
Lizette, the French nurse, came softly and lightly down the stairs and found Frank Merriwell pacing the library floor, while Bart Hodge and Elsie Bellwood talked to him soothingly.
“Madame will see you now, saire,” said the nurse, with a little curtsy. “Ze doctaire he is gone now some time. Madame she is comforterbill. She say she see you–alone.”
Frank was all eagerness to go. He bounded up the stairs, two at a time, scarcely heeding the white-capped nurse, who hurried after him, softly calling:
“Not on ze rush, saire. You make ze rush, you gif madame ze start.”
“That’s so,” muttered Merry, checking himself at the head of the stairs and waiting for the cautious nurse. “Lizette, lead the way.”
The girl, stepping softly as a cat, gently opened a door for him, thus revealing a chamber where the light was softened by drawn window shades. Within that chamber Mrs. Merriwell reclined amid the snowy pillows of a broad bed.
“Ze mastaire is here, madame,” said the nurse, as Frank entered.
In a moment Merry was bending over his wife.
Something small and pink, in a soft white garment, nestled on her arm. It uttered a weak little cry–the cry of a new life in the great seething world–which was sweet music to the pale woman on the bed and the anxious man who bent over her.
“Oh, Frank,” murmured Inza, “he’s calling to you! He knows his father has come.”
Merriwell kissed her lightly, softly, tenderly. Then, with that indescribable light in his eyes, he gazed long and fondly at the babe.
“It’s a boy, Inza!” he murmured. “Just as you wished!”
“Just as I wished for your sake, Frank,” she said. “I knew you wanted a son. This is the happiest moment of my life, for I have given him to you.”
“A son!” exclaimed Frank softly, as he straightened up and threw his splendid shoulders back. “Why, think of it, Inza, I’m a father–and you are the dearest, sweetest, handsomest, noblest little mother in all the world!”
The nurse ventured to speak.
“Madame is so well! Madame is so strong! It is wonderful! It is grand!”
“You’ve been very good, Lizette,” said Inza. “We’ll not forget it.”
The nurse retired to the far end of the room, where she stood with her back toward the bed, pretending to inspect and admire a Donatello upon the wall.
Frank took the chair beside the bed and found Inza’s hand, which he clasped in a firm but gentle grasp.
“What shall we name him?” he asked.
“Why, haven’t you decided on a name, dear?”
“Without consulting you? Do you think I would do such a thing, Inza?”
“The name that pleases you will please me,” she declared. “What shall it be, my husband?”
“Why not the name of my most faithful friend? Why not call him Bartley Hodge Merriwell?”
“If that satisfies you, he shall be called by that name.”
Somehow Frank fancied he detected a touch of disappointment in her voice.
“But you, sweetheart–haven’t you a suggestion to make?”
“If you would like me to make one.”
“You know I would, Inza.”
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