NEDRA***
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NEDRA
by
GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
Author of _Beverly of Graustark_, _Brewster's Millions_, etc.
Illustrations by Harrison Fisher
1906
CONTENTS
Chapter
I The Inspiration II The Beginning of Flight III The First Obstacle IV Ready for the Sea V Mr. and Miss Ridge Sail for Manila VI Henry Veath VII Glum Days for Mr. Ridge VIII The Beautiful Stranger IX Mr. Ridegway's Amazement X A Sharp Encounter XI Discovered XII The Harlequin's Errand XIII The Confession of Veath XIV One Love against Another XV The Wreck of the _Tempest Queen_ XVI The Night and the Morning XVII Was the Sea Kind? XVIII The Wonderful Land XIX The First Day in the Wilds XX The Sign of Distress XXI Gods from the Sea XXII Flesh Succeeds Stone XXIII The Transformation Begins XXIV Nedra XXV The Coming of the Enemy XXVI On the Eve of Battle XXVII The Lady Tennys Reserve XXVIII To the Victor Belongs--? XXIX The Other Surrender XXX Where There is No Minister XXXI The Wedding Ring XXXII The Cruiser _Winnetka_ XXXIII Apparitions XXXIV The Course of True Love XXXV History Repeats Itself
ILLUSTRATIONS
Lady Tennys (Frontispiece)
Grace Vernon
"'Lady Tennys ... You do not know how I thank God you are alive'"
"'Hey, there!' he yelled. 'How are you?'"
"'They have killed you! Let them kill me!'"
CHAPTER I
THE INSPIRATION
A tall young man sped swiftly up the wide stone steps leading to the doorway of a mansion in one of Chicago's most fashionable avenues. After pushing the button sharply he jerked out his watch and guessed at the time by the dull red light from the panel in the door. Then he hastily brushed from the sleeve of his coat the telltale billiard chalk, whose presence reminded him that a general survey might be a wise precaution. He was rubbing a white streak from his trousers' leg when the door flew open and the butler admitted him to the hallway. This personage relieved him of his hat, coat and stick and announced:
"Miss Vernon is w'itin' for you, sir."
"How the devil did I happen to let eight o'clock strike nine before I knew it?" muttered the visitor. He was at the drawing-room door as he concluded this self-addressed reproach, extending both hands toward the young woman who came from the fireplace to meet him.
"How late you are, Hugh," she cried, half resentfully. He bent forward and kissed her.
"Late? It isn't late, dear. I said I couldn't come before eight, didn't I? Well, it's eight, isn't it?"
"It's nearly seventy minutes past eight, sir. I've been waiting and watching the hands on the clock for just sixty minutes."
"I never saw such a perfect crank about keeping time as that grandfatherly clock of yours. It hasn't skipped a second in two centuries, I'll swear. You see, I was playing off the odd game with Tom Ditton."
