The Disowned

The Disowned, by Bulwer-Lytton,
Complete

The Project Gutenberg EBook The Disowned, by Bulwer-Lytton,
Complete #67 in our series by Edward Bulwer-Lytton
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.
Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how
the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since
1971**
*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers*****
Title: The Disowned, Complete
Author: Edward Bulwer-Lytton
Release Date: March 2005 [EBook #7639] [Yes, we are more than one

year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on March 4, 2004]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
DISOWNED, LYTTON, COMPLETE ***

This eBook was produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger


THE DISOWNED
by Edward Bulwer Lytton
CHAPTER I.
I'll tell you a story if you please to attend. G. KNIGHT: Limbo.
It was the evening of a soft, warm day in the May of 17--. The sun had
already set, and the twilight was gathering slowly over the large, still
masses of wood which lay on either side of one of those green lanes so
peculiar to England. Here and there, the outline of the trees irregularly
shrunk back from the road, leaving broad patches of waste land covered
with fern and the yellow blossoms of the dwarf furze, and at more
distant intervals thick clusters of rushes, from which came the small
hum of gnats,--those "evening revellers" alternately rising and sinking
in the customary manner of their unknown sports,--till, as the shadows
grew darker and darker, their thin and airy shapes were no longer
distinguishable, and no solitary token of life or motion broke the
voiceless monotony of the surrounding woods.

The first sound which invaded the silence came from the light, quick
footsteps of a person whose youth betrayed itself in its elastic and
unmeasured tread, and in the gay, free carol which broke out by fits and
starts upon the gentle stillness of the evening.
There was something rather indicative of poetical taste than musical
science in the selection of this vesper hymn, which always commenced
with,--
"'T is merry, 't is merry, in good green wood,"
and never proceeded a syllable further than the end of the second line,--
"when birds are about and singing;"
from the last word of which, after a brief pause, it invariably started
forth into joyous "iteration."
Presently a heavier, yet still more rapid, step than that of the youth was
heard behind; and, as it overtook the latter, a loud, clear, good-
humoured voice gave the salutation of the evening. The tone in which
this courtesy was returned was frank, distinct, and peculiarly
harmonious.
"Good evening, my friend. How far is it to W----? I hope I am not out
of the direct road?"
"To W----, sir?" said the man, touching his hat, as he perceived, in spite
of the dusk, something in the air and voice of his new acquaintance
which called for a greater degree of respect than he was at first
disposed to accord to a pedestrian traveller,--"to W----, sir? why, you
will not surely go there to-night? it is more than eight miles distant, and
the roads none of the best"
"Now, a curse on all rogues!" quoth the youth, with a serious sort of
vivacity. "Why, the miller at the foot of the hill assured me I should be
at my journey's end in less than an hour."

"He may have said right, sir," returned the man, "yet you will not reach
W---- in twice that time."
"How do you mean?" said the younger stranger.
"Why, that you may for once force a miller to speak truth in spite of
himself, and make a public-house, about three miles hence, the end of
your day's journey."
"Thank you for the hint," said the youth. "Does the house you speak of
lie on the road-side?"
"No, sir: the lane branches off about two miles hence, and you must
then turn to the right; but till then our way is the same, and if you
would not prefer your own company to mine we can trudge on
together."
"With all