Anthony Hope

The Prisoner of Zenda (Dystopian Novel)


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       Anthony Hope

      The Prisoner of Zenda

      (Dystopian Novel)

      Published by

      Books

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       [email protected]

      2019 OK Publishing

      EAN 4064066052003

      Table of Contents

       Chapter 1. The Rassendylls — With a Word on the Elphbergs

       Chapter 2. Concerning the Colour of Men’s Hair

       Chapter 3. A Merry Evening with a Distant Relative

       Chapter 4. The King Keeps His Appointment

       Chapter 5. The Adventures of an Understudy

       Chapter 6. The Secret of a Cellar

       Chapter 7. His Majesty Sleeps in Strelsau

       Chapter 8. A Fair Cousin and a Dark Brother

       Chapter 9. A New Use for a Tea-table

       Chapter 10. A Great Chance for a Villain

       Chapter 11. Hunting a Very Big Boar

       Chapter 12. I Receive a Visitor and Bait a Hook

       Chapter 13. An Improvement on Jacob’s Ladder

       Chapter 14. A Night Outside the Castle

       Chapter 15. I Talk with a Tempter

       Chapter 16. A Desperate Plan

       Chapter 17. Young Rupert’s Midnight Diversions

       Chapter 18. The Forcing of the Trap

       Chapter 19. Face to Face in the Forest

       Chapter 20. The Prisoner and the King

       Chapter 21. If love were all!

       Chapter 22. Present, Past — and Future?

      Chapter 1

       The Rassendylls — With a Word on the Elphbergs

       Table of Contents

      “I wonder when in the world you’re going to do anything, Rudolf?” said my brother’s wife.

      “My dear Rose,” I answered, laying down my egg-spoon, “why in the world should I do anything? My position is a comfortable one. I have an income nearly sufficient for my wants (no one’s income is ever quite sufficient, you know), I enjoy an enviable social position: I am brother to Lord Burlesdon, and brother-inlaw to that charming lady, his countess. Behold, it is enough!”

      “You are nine-and-twenty,” she observed, “and you’ve done nothing but —”

      “Knock about? It is true. Our family doesn’t need to do things.”

      This remark of mine rather annoyed Rose, for everybody knows (and therefore there can be no harm in referring to the fact) that, pretty and accomplished as she herself is, her family is hardly of the same standing as the Rassendylls. Besides her attractions, she possessed a large fortune, and my brother Robert was wise enough not to mind about her ancestry. Ancestry is, in fact, a matter concerning which the next observation of Rose’s has some truth.

      “Good families are generally worse than any others,” she said.

      Upon this I stroked my hair: I knew quite well what she meant.

      “I’m so glad Robert’s is black!” she cried.

      At this moment Robert (who rises at seven and works before breakfast) came in. He glanced at his wife: her cheek was slightly flushed; he patted it caressingly.

      “What’s the matter, my dear?” he asked.

      “She objects to my doing nothing and having red hair,” said I, in an injured tone.

      “Oh! of course he can’t help his hair,” admitted Rose.

      “It generally crops out once in a generation,” said my brother. “So does the nose. Rudolf has got them both.”

      “I wish they didn’t crop out,” said Rose, still flushed.

      “I rather like them myself,” said I, and, rising, I bowed to the portrait of Countess Amelia.

      My brother’s wife uttered an exclamation of impatience.

      “I wish you’d take that picture away, Robert,” said she.

      “My dear!” he cried.

      “Good heavens!” I added.

      “Then it might be forgotten,” she continued.

      “Hardly — with Rudolf about,” said Robert, shaking his head.

      “Why should it be forgotten?” I asked.

      “Rudolf!” exclaimed my brother’s wife, blushing very prettily.

      I laughed, and went on with my egg. At least I had shelved the question of what (if anything) I ought to do. And, by way of closing the discussion — and also, I must admit, of exasperating my strict little sister-inlaw a trifle more — I observed:

      “I rather like being an Elphberg myself.”

      When I read a story, I skip the explanations; yet the moment I begin to write one, I find that I must have an explanation. For it is manifest that I must explain why my sister-inlaw was vexed with my nose and hair, and why I ventured to call myself an Elphberg. For eminent as, I must protest, the Rassendylls have been for many generations, yet participation in their blood of course does not, at first sight, justify the boast of a connection with the grander stock of the Elphbergs or a claim to be one of that Royal House. For what relationship