The Vicars Daughter

߾The Vicar's Daughter [with accents]

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Vicar's Daughter, by George MacDonald 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 Vicar's Daughter
Author: George MacDonald
Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9471] [This file was first posted on October 3, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE VICAR'S DAUGHTER ***

E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team

THE VICAR'S DAUGHTER
BY GEORGE MACDONALD

The Vicar's Daughter was originally published in 1872 by Tinsley Brothers, London.

[Illustration: "I've brought you the baby to kiss," I said, unfolding the blanket. Page 98.]

CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I
. INTRODUCTORY
CHAPTER II
. I TRY
CHAPTER III
. MY WEDDING
CHAPTER IV
. JUDY'S VISIT
CHAPTER V
. GOOD SOCIETY
CHAPTER VI
. A REFUGE FROM THE HEAT
CHAPTER VII
. CONNIE
CHAPTER VIII
. CONNIE'S BABY
CHAPTER IX
. THE FOUNDLING REFOUND
CHAPTER X
. WAGTAIL COMES TO HONOR
CHAPTER XI
. A STUPID
CHAPTER
CHAPTER XII. AN INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER XIII
. MY FIRST DINNER PARTY.--A NEGATIVED PROPOSAL
CHAPTER XIV
. A PICTURE
CHAPTER XV
. RUMORS
CHAPTER XVI
. A DISCOVERY
CHAPTER XVII
. MISS CLARE
CHAPTER XVIII
. MISS CLARE'S HOME
CHAPTER XIX
. HER STORY
CHAPTER XX
. A REMARKABLE FACT
CHAPTER XXI
. LADY BERNARD
CHAPTER XXII
. MY SECOND DINNER PARTY
CHAPTER XXIII
. THE END OF THE EVENING
CHAPTER XXIV
. MY FIRST TERROR
CHAPTER XXV
. ITS SEQUEL
CHAPTER XXVI
. TROUBLES
CHAPTER XXVII
. MISS CLARE AMONGST HER FRIENDS
CHAPTER XXVIII
. MR. MORLEY
CHAPTER XXIX
. A STRANGE TEXT
CHAPTER XXX
. ABOUT SERVANTS
CHAPTER XXXI
. ABOUT PERCIVALE
CHAPTER XXXII
. MY SECOND TERROR
CHAPTER XXXIII
. THE CLOUDS AFTER THE RAIN
CHAPTER XXXIV
. THE SUNSHINE
CHAPTER XXXV
. WHAT LADY BERNARD THOUGHT OF IT
CHAPTER XXXVI
. RETROSPECTIVE
CHAPTER XXXVII
. MRS. CROMWELL COMES
CHAPTER XXXVIII
. MRS. CROMWELL GOES
CHAPTER XXXIX
. ANCESTRAL WISDOM
CHAPTER XL
. CHILD NONSENSE
CHAPTER XLI
. "DOUBLE, DOUBLE, TOIL AND TROUBLE"
CHAPTER XLII
. ROGER AND MARION
CHAPTER XLIII
. A LITTLE MORE ABOUT ROGER, AND ABOUT MR. BLACKSTONE
CHAPTER XLIV
. THE DEA EX

CHAPTER I
.
INTRODUCTORY.
I think that is the way my father would begin. My name is Ethelwyn Percivale, and used to be Ethelwyn Walton. I always put the Walton in between when I write to my father; for I think it is quite enough to have to leave father and mother behind for a husband, without leaving their name behind you also. I am fond of lumber-rooms, and in some houses consider them far the most interesting spots; but I don't choose that my old name should lie about in the one at home.
I am much afraid of writing nonsense; but my father tells me that to see things in print is a great help to recognizing whether they are nonsense or not. And he tells me, too, that his friend the publisher, who,--but I will speak of him presently,--his friend the publisher is not like any other publisher he ever met with before; for he never grumbles at any alterations writers choose to make,--at least he never says any thing, although it costs a great deal to shift the types again after they are once set up. The other part of my excuse for attempting to write lies simply in telling how it came about.
Ten days ago, my father came up from Marshmallows to pay us a visit. He is with us now, but we don't see much of him all day; for he is generally out with a friend of his in the east end, the parson of one of the poorest parishes in London,--who thanks God that he wasn't the nephew of any bishop to be put into a good living, for he learns more about the ways of God from having to do with plain, yes, vulgar human nature, than the thickness of the varnish would ever have permitted him to discover in what are called the higher orders of society. Yet I must say, that, amongst those I have recognized as nearest, the sacred communism of the early church--a phrase of my father's--are two or three people of rank and wealth, whose names are written in heaven, and need not he set down in my poor story.
A few days ago, then, my father, coming home to dinner, brought with him the publisher of the two books called, "The Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood," and "The Seaboard Parish." The first of these had lain by him for some