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Albert Lee
The Call of the Night Rider: A Story of the Days of William Tyndale
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1637083The Call of the Night Rider: A Story of the Days of William Tyndalehttps://www.gandhi.com.mx/the-voyages-and-adventures-of-captain-hatteras-11/phttps://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/717310/73d952d5-69ca-4968-a113-7c15bff7492a.jpg?v=638571237636500000111123MXNLibrary of AlexandriaInStock/Ebooks/1613723The Call of the Night Rider: A Story of the Days of William Tyndale111123https://www.gandhi.com.mx/the-voyages-and-adventures-of-captain-hatteras-11/phttps://gandhi.vtexassets.com/arquivos/ids/717310/73d952d5-69ca-4968-a113-7c15bff7492a.jpg?v=638571237636500000InStockMXN99999DIEbook20249781465610447_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_<p>The sailing of a brig is not a matter of great importance for the chief commercial city of England. Who would take notice of it in so great a throng of ships of all sizes and of every country, that dry-docks covering two leagues scarcely contain them? Nevertheless, from early morning on the 6th of April, a large crowd collected on the quays of the New Princes Docks; all the sailors of the place seemed to have assembled there. The workingmen of the neighboring wharves had abandoned their tasks, tradesmen had left their gloomy shops, and the merchants their empty warehouses. The many-colored omnibuses which pass outside of the docks were discharging, every minute, their load of sight-seers; the whole city seemed to care for nothing except watching the departure of the Forward. The Forward was a vessel of one hundred and seventy tons, rigged as a brig, and carrying a screw and a steam-engine of one hundred and twenty horse-power. One would have very easily confounded it with the other brigs in the harbor. But if it presented no especial difference to the eye of the public, yet those who were familiar with ships noticed certain peculiarities which could not escape a sailors keen glance. Thus, on the Nautilus, which was lying at anchor near her, a group of sailors were trying to make out the probable destination of the Forward.</p>(*_*)9781465610447_<p>As she walked across the meadow, carrying a basket in one hand, and swinging a a dainty blue hood in the other, Margaret Byrckmann made a picture that was pleasing to behold. She looked up as she moved along, but her eyes went down again before the dazzling sun which was setting in a blaze of red splendour, silhouetting the battlemented walls of the city. She gave this evening beauty scanty attention, for her dark eyes were watching the meadow. Then a cry of pleasure broke from her lips, and she hastened forward; but before she had gone far her face filled with disappointment, and she stopped abruptly. "I thought it was Herman!" she exclaimed, almost petulantly. She watched a man who was walking wearily. He looked dusty and wayworn, and the movement on the beaten path seemed to be toilsome and painful. She thought he must have travelled far, for he carried a heavy-looking wallet on his back, and the staff in his hand was used as though it was real labour to go forward. "He is tired to death, poor man!" she muttered, her sympathy getting the better of her disappointment, and she crossed the meadow to intercept him. Until he halted, in sheer weariness, to look around for some spota tree, or a bushanything that would screen him from the glare of the sun, the man in the meadow did not see her; but the moment he spoke, Margaret knew that he was not one of her countrymen. "Mistress, how far is it to the city?" he asked, in a foreign accent. "That is it," she answered softly, and full of concern, for the strangers limbs trembled, and his hand shook when he raised it to set his cap straight. With the other he gripped his staff tightly, lest he should fall. "Yonder?" he exclaimed, gazing beneath his hand. "I did not see it in the blaze of the sunset. It seems a long way off." "More than two miles," said Margaret. "Two miles!" was the dismayed response; "so far as that?" "Yes, sir. But how will you think to enter the city, since tis but a few minutes to sundown? They close the gates the moment the sunset bell has stopped." "Is it so?" came the discouraged response. "I forgot that it is not here as it is in England, where our walled cities are so few. Then I must lie in the meadow till sunrise." "You could enter if you had a pass," said Margaret, who was concerned for the stranger; for, in spite of his wallet and the travel stains, she saw that he was no common wanderer. "But I have no pass." The stranger and the girl, standing in silence, while the slanting sunlight was sending long shadows over the grass, looked around for some placea hut, or a barn, or anything where a man who was tired could lie down and sleep; but there was nothing of that sort in view; no village, far or near. "There is no place that I can see," said Margaret, who had never noticed how empty the fields were of houses until now, when they were so badly needed. "Ah, well! I may not complain," the stranger muttered. "Why should I? Even the dear Lord saw many a sun go down, and had nowhere to lay His head." He spoke more to himself, as if forgetful that the girl was near, until she moved. "I will sit down under the chestnut tree, and take my chance, unless your home is anywhere outside the city walls." "I live in the city, sir, but they know me, and I have a permit to get in after the gates are shut," said Margaret. "And yet I am so sorry for you," she went on softly. "If I only knew where I might find some food I would not care," the stranger said, gazing around him, his hand above his eyes. A low call came while he was speaking, like the sweet note of the last evening bird. It travelled over the meadow from the river, and Margaret looked up quickly.</p>...9781465610447_Library of Alexandrialibro_electonico_8a10e422-0a04-3489-a593-b2dbfcecd2fd_9781465610447;9781465610447_9781465610447Albert LeeInglésMéxicohttps://getbook.kobo.com/koboid-prod-public/markmoxford-epub-0a67b04e-27c5-4cbc-aaf2-ad7cd7154d08.epub2024-05-08T00:00:00+00:00Library of Alexandria