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S. Frances Harrison
Ringfield
A Novel
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4057664102270
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER I THE HOLY WATERS
CHAPTER II THE WHITE PEACOCK
CHAPTER III THE MAN IN THE CHAIR
CHAPTER IV THE HOUSE OF CLAIRVILLE
CHAPTER V THE UNSEEN HAND
CHAPTER VI THE MISSIONARY
CHAPTER VII THE OXFORD MAN
CHAPTER VIII THE "PIC"
CHAPTER IX PAULINE
CHAPTER X THE PICNIC
CHAPTER XI "ANGEEL"
CHAPTER XII THE HEART OF POUSSETTE
CHAPTER XIII A SICK SEIGNEUR
CHAPTER XIV FATHER RIELLE
CHAPTER XV THE STORM
CHAPTER XVI IN THE BARN
CHAPTER XVII REVELRY BY NIGHT
CHAPTER XVIII A CONCERT DE LUXE
CHAPTER XIX REHABILITATION
CHAPTER XX A RURAL AUTOCRAT
CHAPTER XXI THE NATURAL MAN
CHAPTER XXII THE TROUSSEAU OF PAULINE
CHAPTER XXIII THE SEIGNEUR PASSES
CHAPTER XXIV RELAPSE
CHAPTER XXV THE TROUSSEAU AGAIN
CHAPTER XXVI THE GLISSADE
CHAPTER XXVII THE CARPET BAG
CHAPTER XXVIII THE HAVEN
CHAPTER XXIX THE WILL OF GOD
CHAPTER XXX THE QUEST OF HAPPINESS
CHAPTER I
THE HOLY WATERS
" … … the sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion."
In a country of cascades, a land of magnificent waterfalls, that watery hemisphere which holds Niagara and reveals to those who care to travel so far north the unhackneyed splendours of the Labrador, the noble fall of St. Ignace, though only second or third in size, must ever rank first in all that makes for majestic and perfect beauty.
It is not alone the wondrous sweep and curve of tumbling brown water that descends by three horseshoe ledges to a swirl of sparkling spray. It is not alone the great volume of the dark river above sent over, thrust down, nor the height from which the olive is hurled to the white below. So, too, plunge and sweep other falls—the Grand Loup in Terrebonne, the Petit Loup in Joliette, the Pleureuse, the Grand Lorette, the Tuque, the big and little Shawenigan, the half-dozen or so "Chaudière," the Montmorenci or La Vache, but none of these can equal the St. Ignace in point of dignified, unspoilt approach and picturesque surroundings. For a mile above the cataract the river runs, an inky ribbon, between banks of amazing solitariness; no clearing is there, no sign of human habitation, hardly any vestige of animal life. The trees stand thick along the edges, are thick towards the high rocky table-land that lies on either side; it is, in short, a river flowing through a forest. And when it drops, it drops to meet the same impassable wooded banks; it is now a cataract in a forest. Rocks