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The Uncrowned King by Harold Bell Wright

Produced by Kevin Handy, John Hagerson, and PG Distributed Proofreaders

[Illustration: (see king001.png)]

THE UNCROWNED KING

BY HAROLD BELL WRIGHT

AUTHOR OF "THE SHEPHERD OF THE HILLS" ETC., ETC.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN REA NEILL

1910

To MR. ELSBERY W. REYNOLDS My Publisher and Friend, Whose belief in my work has made my work possible, I gratefully dedicate this tale of The Uncrowned King

Redlands, California. May fourth, 1910

"Eyes blinded by the fog of Things cannot see Truth. Ears deafened by the din of Things cannot hear Truth. Brains bewildered by the whirl of Things cannot think Truth. Hearts deadened by the weight of Things cannot feel Truth. Throats choked by the dust of Things cannot speak Truth."

CONTENTS

The Pilgrim and His Pilgrimage The Voice of the Waves The Voice of the Evening Wind The Voice of the Night The Voice of the New Day

ILLUSTRATIONS Drawn by John Rea Neill

* * * * *

THE PILGRIM AND HIS PILGRIMAGE

[Illustration: The Pilgrim and His Pilgrimage (see king002.png)]

For many, many, weary months the Pilgrim journeyed in the wide and pathless Desert of Facts. So many indeed were the months that the wayworn Pilgrim, himself, came at last to forget their number.

And always, for the Pilgrim, the sky by day was a sky of brass, softened not by so much as a wreath of cloud mist. Always, for him, the hot air was stirred not by so much as the lift of a wild bird's wing. Never, for him, was the awful stillness of the night broken by voice of his kind, by foot-fall of beast, or by rustle of creeping thing. For the toiling Pilgrim in the vast and pathless Desert of Facts there was no kindly face, no friendly fire. Only the stars were many--many and very near.

Day after day, as the Pilgrim labored onward, through the torturing heat, under the sky of brass, he saw on either hand lakes of living waters and groves of many palms. And the waters called him to their healing coolness: the palms beckoned him to their restful shade and shelter. Night after night, in the dreadful solitude, frightful Shapes came on silent feet out of the silent darkness to stare at him with doubtful, questioning, threatening eyes; drawing back at last, if he stood still, as silently as they had come, or, if he advanced, vanishing quickly, only to reappear as silently in another place.


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