At the door we found Mrs. Fletcher just returned from Lady Cranberry's,
and eager to say a great deal which could not now be listened to.
Having proved the speed of our horse, I begged the cabman to wait for a
quarter of an hour, and then take us to Paddington at any fare he
pleased, so long as he drove full gallop. This suited his views very
nicely, and knowing Mr. Shelfer, as every one in London does--so at
least I am forced to believe--he fain would have kept me ten minutes of
the fifteen, to tell of Charley's knowingness, how he had kept it all
dark as could be, you see, Miss, and had won three hundred and
twenty-five pounds, without reckoning the odd money, Miss--
"Reckon it then, Mr. Cabman," and I ran upstairs full speed, after
telling Mrs. Shelfer the sum, lest she should be cheated.
In five minutes I was ready, and came out of my bedroom into the
sitting-room, with my hat in one hand, and a little bag in the other;
and there, instead of Mrs. Fletcher, I found, whom?--Conrad!
Very pale and ill he looked, so unlike himself that I was shocked, and
instead of leaping to him, fell upon a chair. He mistook me, and
approached very slowly, but with his dear old smile: how my heart beat,
how I longed to be in his arms; but they looked too weak to hold me.
"Oh, Miss Vaughan, I know everything. Will you ever forgive me?"
"Never, my own darling, while you call me that. Forgive you indeed! Can
I ever forgive myself, for the evil I have thought of you? How very ill
you look! Come and let me kiss you well."
But instead of my doing that, he had to do it for me; for I was quite
beaten at last, and fainted away in his arms. By this folly five
minutes were lost; and I had so much to say to him, and more to think of
than twenty such heads could hold. But he seemed to think that it must
be all right, so long as he had me there.
"Oh, Conny," I said through my tears at last, "my own pet Conny, come
with me. Your father is in such danger."
"Life of my heart, I will follow you by the very next train. This one I
cannot go by."
I could wait for no explanation, and he seemed inclined to give none.
Perhaps this was the reason that he spent all the time in kissing me;
which, much as I enjoyed it, would have done quite as well at leisure.
Be that as it may, there was no time to talk about it; he said it did
his lips good, and I believe it did, they were so pale at first, and now
so fine a red. Suddenly in the midst of it, a great voice was heard
from the passage:
"Why now, what ever be us to do with the chillers?"
Out I ran, with my hair down as usual, and a great flush in my cheeks,
but I did not let any one see me.
"Leave them here, to be sure, leave them here, Mr. Huxtable. They shall
have my rooms; and in all London they would not find such a hostess as
Mrs. Shelfer."
There was no time to consider it. The throat of hurry is large, and
gulps almost any suggestion. Away we went full gallop; the farmer was
on the box,--how the driver found room I can't say,--Mrs. Fletcher and I
inside, all consulting her watch every minute. Across the Regent's Park,
scattering the tame wild ducks, past Marylebone Church, and the
Yorkshire Stingo, and Edgware Road--we saved it by just two minutes.
Although I had taken his ticket, the farmer would not come with us, but
went in a second-class carriage.
"They blue featherbeds trimmed with pig's tails, is too good for the
likes of I, Miss Clara; and I should be afeared all the wai that the
Missus was rating of me for my leg-room. I paid parlour price coming
up, and went in the kitchen waggons, because it zim'd only fair, as I
takes such a dale of room."
I knew that none ever could turn him from what he considered just, and
therefore allowed him to ride where he pleased. But a dozen times I
thought we should have lost him on the way; for at every station, where
the train stopped, he made a point of coming to our window, which he had
marked with a piece of chalk, and "humbly axing our pardon, but was we
all right and no fire? He couldn't think what they wanted, not he, with
tempting God Almighty fast." Not fast enough for me, I told him every
time; whereupon he put on his hat with a sigh, and said he supposed I
was born to it. And yet all the time he seemed to consider that he was
protecting me somehow, and once he called me his dearie, to the great
surprise of the other passengers, and the horror of Mrs. Fletcher;
seeing which he repented hastily, and "Miss Vaughan'd" me three times in
a sentence, with a hot flush on his forehead. At Swindon, where we
changed carriages, he pulled out very mysteriously from an inner
breast-pocket a little sack tied with whipcord, and in which, I do
believe, the simple soul had deposited all his hard-earned prize-money.
Then he led us to the counter, proud to show that he had been there
before, and earnestly begged for the honour of treating us to a drop of
somewhat. His countenance fell so on my refusal, that I was fain to
cancel it, and to drink at his expense a glass of iced sherry and water;
while Mrs. Fletcher, with much persuasion and simpering, and for the
sake of her poor inside, that had been so long her enemy, ventured on a
"wee wee thimbleful of Cognac." The farmer himself, much abashed at the
splendour around him, which he told me, in a whisper, beat Pewter Will's
out and out, and even the "Fortescue Arms," would not call for anything,
until I insisted upon it; being hard pressed he asked at last, hoping no
offence of the lady, for a pint of second cider. The young woman turned
up her nose, but I soon made her turn it down again, and fetch him, as
the nearest thing, a bottle of sparkling perry.
As always happens, when one is in a great hurry, the train was an hour
behind its time, and the setting sun was casting gold upon the old
cathedral--to my mind one of the lightest and grandest buildings in
England, though the farmer prefers that squat and heavy Norman thing at
Exeter--when we glided smoothly and swiftly into the Gloucester Station.
I fully intended to have sent an electric message from London, not for
the sake of the carriage, which mattered nothing, but to warn my dear
uncle; at Paddington, however, we found no time to do it, and so stupid
I was that I never once thought of telegraphing from Swindon. To make
up by over alacrity, in a case of far less importance, I went to the
office at Gloucester, and sent this message to Tiverton, then the
nearest Station to Exmoor--"Farmer has won, and got the money. Clara
Vaughan to Mrs. Huxtable." The amazement of the farmer, I cannot stop
to describe.
No time was lost by doing this, for I had ordered a pair of horses, and
they were being put to. Then, stimulating the driver, we dashed off for
Vaughan St. Mary. Anxious as I was, and wretched at the thought of what
we might find, so exhausted was my frame by the thaumatrope of the last
six-and-thirty hours, that I fell fast asleep, and woke not until we
came to the lodge. Old Whitehead came out, hat in hand, and whispered
something into Mrs. Fletcher's ear. That good old lady had been
worrying me dreadfully about her jams, for the weather was so hot, she
was sure all the fruit would be over, &c., none of which could I listen
to now. As Whitehead spoke, I saw through my half-open lashes that she
started violently; but she would not tell me what it was, and I did not
want to intrude on secrets that might be between them. The farmer also
diverted attention by calling from the box, as we wound into the avenue,
"Dear heart alaive; this bate all the sojers as ever I see, Miss Clara,
or even the melisher to Coom. Why, arl thiccy treeses must a growed so
a puppose, just over again one another, and arl of a bigness too. Wull,
wull! Coachman, was ever you to Davonsheer?"
I do believe those men of Devon see nothing they admire, without
thinking at once of their county.
At the front door, the butler met us, which surprised me rather, as
being below his dignity. He was a trusty old servant, who had been
under Thomas Henwood, and had come back to his place since the general
turn-out of the household. Now he looked very grave and sad, and
instead of leading me on, drew me aside in the hall. It was getting
dark, and the fire in the west was dying. Great plumes of
asparagus--shame it was to cut them--waved under the ancient
mantel-piece.
"Bad news it is, Miss Clara"--they all seemed to call me that--"very bad
news indeed, Miss. But I hope you was prepared for it."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, haven't you heard about poor master's death?"
"Dead, my dear uncle dead! Do you mean to say"--I could not finish the
sentence.
"No, Miss, only to-day, and not as you thinks; no fit at all, nor
paralyatic stroke. He went off quiet as a lamb, as near as could be
three o'clock. He was very poorly before; but he had a deal to do, and
would not give in on no account. He was sitting by himself in the study
after breakfast, and at last he rang the bell, and told them to send me
up. When I went in, he was bolt upright in his chair, with a beautiful
smile on his face, but so pale, white I ought to say, Miss, and so weak
he could hardly move. 'John,' he says, 'Yes, Sir,' says I; 'John,' he
says again, 'you are a most respectable man, and I can trust you with
anything in the world, John. Take this letter for Miss Vaughan, and put
it with your own hands into her own, directly the moment she comes back.
I am rather uneasy about the poor girl,' he says, as it were to himself.
'Which Miss Vaughan, Sir?' says I. 'Your mistress, John. Can't you see
what is written on it? And now help me upstairs; and if ever I spoke to
you harshly, John Hoxton, I ask your pardon for it. You will find as I
haven't forgotten you.' And with that I helped him upstairs, Miss, and
I had almost to carry him; and then he says, 'Help me to bed, John. I
would like to die in my bed, and it will save some trouble. And let me
look out of the window; what a lovely day it is, it reminds me quite of
the South. So I set him up in the bed, Miss, handy altogether, and
beautiful, and he could see two larks on the lawn, and he asked me what
they was. Then he says, 'Thank you, John, you have done it wonderful
well, and I hope they won't speak evil of me round this place, after I
am gone. I have tried to do my duty, John, as between man and man:
though I would be softer with them, if I had my time over again. Now
send my daughter to me, though I wish I had seen my son, John. But I
ought to be very thankful, and what's more, I am. All of you likes Miss
Lily, unless they tell me stories, John.' 'Sir,' says I, 'we wusships
her, though not like our own Miss Vaughan.'"
Ah, John Hoxton, did you say that to him, I wonder, or interpolate, _ex
post facto_?
"So he looked very pleased at that, Miss, and he says again, 'John, let
all that love her know that she is the living image of her mother. Now
go and send her quickly; but John, take care not to frighten my little
darling.' So I went and found Miss Lily got along with the Shetland
pony and giving it bits of clover, and I sent her up and Jane too, for I
was dreadfully frightened, and you away, Miss, at the time. And what
come afterwards I can't tell, only no luncheon went up, and there was
orders not to ring the bell for the servants' dinner; and I heard poor
Miss Lily crying terrible all along the corridor, and I did hear say
that his last words was, and he trying to raise his arms toward the
window, 'Blessed be God, I can see my own Lily,' but she warn't that
side of the bed, Miss; so he must have made some mistake."
"No. He meant her mother. Where is my cousin now?"
"In your own room, Miss, lying down, they tell me. She did take on so
awful, Jane thought she would have died. But at last she brought her
round a little, and persuaded her to lie down. She calls for you, Miss,
every time she comes to herself."
I went straightway to the poor little dear, without even stopping to
read the letter placed in my hands. The room in which she lay was dark;
for Jane, who was watching in my little parlour, whispered to me that
the poor child could not bear the lamp-light, her eyes were so weak and
sore.
At first Lily did not know me; and it went to my heart, after all my own
great sorrows, to hear the sad low moaning. She lay on my own little
bed, with her pale face turned to the wall, her thick hair all over her
shoulders, and both hands pressed to her heart. Annie Franks had been
many times to ask for her, but Lily would not let her come in. Bending
over I laid my cheek on Lily's, and softly whispered her name. At last
she knew me, and took my hand, and turned her sweet lips to kiss me.
Then she sobbed and cried most bitterly; but I saw that it did her good.
By and by she said, with her fingers among my hair:
"Oh, Clara, isn't it hard to find him at last, and love him so, and only
for three days, and then, and then--"
"And then, my pet, to let him go where his heart has been nearly twenty
years. Would you be so selfish as to rob your mother of him? And to go
so happy. I am sure he has. Come with me and see."
"Oh no, oh no. I cannot." And her lovely young form trembled, at the
thought of visiting death.
"Yes, you can, if you only try, and I am sure that he would wish it.
That you and I should kneel hand in hand and bless him, as others shall
kneel some day by us. What, Lily afraid of her father! Then I have no
fear of my Uncle."
God knows that I spoke so, not from harshness, only in the hope to do
her good.
"If you really think he would wish it, dear--"
"Yes. It is a duty I owe him. He would be disappointed in me, if I
failed."
"Oh, how he longed to see you once more, dear Clara, But he felt that
you were safe, and he said you would come to see him, though he could
not see you. He talked of you quite to the last; you and darling
Conny."
"Conny will be here to-night."
"No! Oh I am so glad!" and a bright flash of joy shone forth from the
eyes that were red with weeping. Something cold pushed quietly in
between us, and then gave a sniff and a sigh. It was darling Judy's
nose. He had learned in the lower regions, where he always dwelled in
my absence, that Miss Clara was come home; and knowing my name as well
as his own, he had set off at once in quest of me. After offering me
his best love and respects, with the tip of his tongue, as he always
did, he looked from one to the other of us, with his eyebrows raised in
surprise, and the deepest sorrow and sympathy in his beautiful
soft-brown pupils. I declare it made us cry more than ever.
"Oh, Clara," sobbed Lily at length, "he did howl so last night. Do you
think he could have known it?"
His eyes dropped, as she was telling me. They always did, when he
thought he had been a bad dog.
"Now go down, Judy; good little Judy, go to Mrs. Fletcher. A great
friend of mine is with her."
Away he trotted obediently, and his tail recovered its flourish before
he had got to the corner.
"Now, darling, let us go there," said the poor child, trembling again.
"I would go anywhere with you."
Hand in hand we walked into my Uncle's chamber. Young as I was, and
still thoughtless in many ways, twice before now had I gazed on the
solemn face of death; but never, not even in my mother's holy
countenance, saw I such perfect peace and bliss as dwelt in and seemed
to smile from my dearest Uncle's lineaments. The life, in youth puffed
here and there by every captious breeze of pride, in its prime becalmed
awhile on the halycon deep of love, then tempest-tossed through the
lonely dark, and shattered of late by blows from God, that life whose
flaw of misanthropy and waste of high abilities had been redeemed,
ennobled even, by a pure and perfect love--now it had bidden farewell to
all below the clouds, calmly, happily, best of all--in faith.
We knelt beside the bed and prayed--Lily as a Catholic, Clara as a
Protestant--that we, and all we loved, might have so blest an end. Then
we both sat peacefully, with a happy awe upon us, in the dark recess
behind the velvet curtains. Two wax candles were burning on the table
towards the door, and by their light the face we loved, looked not wan,
but glorious, as with a silver glory.
Clasping each the other's waist, and kissing away each other's tranquil
tears, how long we sat there I know not, neither what high fluttering
thoughts, thoughts or angels, which be they--stealthily a door was
opened, not the door of heaven, not even the main door of the room we
sat in, but a narrow side-door. Through it crept, with crawling
caution, he whom most of all men I now despised and pitied. Lily did
not hear his entrance, neither did she see him; but my eyes and ears
were keen from many a call of danger. Stunned for a while by the heavy
blow, that met me on my return, I had forgotten all about him; I mean,
at least, all about his present design. I had indeed told the farmer,
for it was only fair to do so, my object in bringing him down; and how I
relied on his wonderful strength and courage, having then no other to
help me; but since I got home, and heard the sad tidings, it seemed a
mere thing for contempt. Not even Lepardo Della Croce could catch a
departed spirit. So, and in the landslip of the mind, sapped by its
own, and sliding swiftly into another's sorrow, I had not even ordered
that the house should be watched at all; I had not even posted Giudice,
who had a vendetta of his own, anywhere on guard.
With a stiletto still concealed, all but the handle on which the light
fell, he approached the bed, wriggling along and crouching, as a cat or
leopard would. Then he rose and stood upright at the side of the bed,
not our side but the other, and glared upon his intended victim's face.
I pushed Lily back behind the curtain as if with the weight of my bosom,
while I watched the whole. Never in all my tempestuous life, of all the
horrible things I have seen, and heard, and shuddered at, saw I anything
so awful, so utterly beyond not only description, but conception, as
that disdainful, arrogant face, when the truth burst on him. Not the
body only, but the mind and soul--if God had cursed him with one--were
smitten back all of a lump, as if he had leaped from a train at full
speed into a firing cannon's mouth. Before he had time to recover, I
advanced and faced him. All dressed in white I was, with my black hair
below my waist, for I had thrown off my travelling frock, and taken what
first came to hand. They tell me I look best in white, it shows my hair
and eyes so.
He believed that it was a spirit, the Vendetta spirit of the other side;
and he cowered from me. I was the first to speak. "Lepardo Della
Croce, it is the rebuke of heaven. Dust upon ashes; such is man's
revenge. I have nursed, but scorn it now. Go in peace, and pray the
Almighty that He be not like you. Stop; I will show you forth. You
have a vindictive foe here, who would tear you to atoms."
I led the way, trembling at every corner lest we should meet Giudice;
for I knew he would not obey me, if he once caught sight of this hated
one. After standing silently, unable to take his eyes from the placid
face of the dead, Lepardo began to follow me, walking as if in a dream.
Meeting none, I led him forth along the corridor, down the end
staircase, and out on the eastern terrace. There I waved him off, and
pointed to the dark refuge of the shrubbery, beyond the mineral spring.
The moonlight slept upon the black water narrowly threading the grass.
Over our heads drooped the ivy, the creeper of oblivion. The murderer
turned and looked at me; hitherto he had glided along with his head
down, as in bewilderment. Oh that he had said one word of sorrow or
repentance! He spoke not at all; but shuddered, as the ivy rustled
above us. His face was pale as the moonlight. Did he see in me
something higher than the spirit of Vendetta?
I pointed again to the trees, and urged him away from the house. He had
two strong enemies there; a minute might make all the difference.
Breaking as if from a spell, he waved his Italian cap, and his lithe
strong figure was lost among the Portugal laurels. For a minute I stood
there, wondering; then slowly went round the house-corner, and gazed at
the grey stone mullions of the room which had been my father's.
I was still in the anguish of doubt and misgiving--what right had an
ignorant girl like me to play judge and jury, or more, to absolve and
release a crime against all humanity?--when a mighty form stood beside
me, and Giudice, all bristle and fire, dashed forth from the door in the
gable. With command and entreaty I called him, but he heard me not,
neither looked at me; but scoured the ground like a shadow, quartering
it as a pointer does, only he carried his nose down.
"Dang my slow bones," said the farmer, "but I'll have him yet, Miss. I
seed him go, I'll soon find him."
"No, no. I won't have him stopped. He shall go free, and repent."
"By your lave, Miss, it can't be. A man as have done what he have, us
has no right to play buff with. Never before did I go again your will,
Miss; but axing your pardon, I must now. Look, the girt dog know
better."
As the dog found the track and gave tongue, the farmer rushed from me
and followed him, dashing headlong into the shrubbery, after leaping the
mineral spring, at the very spot where the footprints had been. Judy and
Farmer Huxtable were fast friends already; for that dog always made up
his mind in a moment on the question of like and dislike.
For a time I was so horror-struck, that no power of motion was left. I
knew that the farmer was quite unarmed, he carried not even a stick.
Even with the great dog to help him, what could he do against fire-arms,
which Lepardo was sure to have? What should I say to his wife and
children, what should I say to myself, if John Huxtable fell a victim to
that wily and desperate criminal?
Resolved to be present, if possible, I rushed down the narrow path which
led to the little park-gate, where probably they would pass. I was
right: they had passed, and flung it wide open. Breathless I looked
around, for hence several tracks diverged. No living thing could I see
or hear, but the beating of my heart, which seemed to be in my throat,
and the hooting of an owl from the hollow elm at the corner. I flung
myself down on the dewy grass, and strained my eyes in vain; until by
some silver birch-trees on which the moonlight was glancing, I saw first
a gliding figure that looked like a deer in the distance, then a tall
man running rapidly. Away I made by a short cut for the "Witches'
grave," as the end of the lake was called, for I knew that the path they
were on led thither. Quite out of breath I was, for I had run more than
half a mile, when I came full upon a scene, which would have robbed me
of breath if I had any. At the end of a little dingle, under a
willow-tree, and within a few feet of the water, stood Lepardo Della
Croce, brought to bay at last. A few yards from him, Giudice was
struggling furiously to escape the farmer's grasp; perhaps no other hand
in England could have held him. His eyes kindled in the moonlight, like
the red stars of a rocket, and a deep roar of baffled rage came from the
surge of his chest, as he champed his monstrous fangs, and volleyed all
the spring of his loins. The farmer leaned backward to hold him, and
stayed himself by a tree-stump.
"Sharp now, surrender, wull e, man. In the name of of the Quane and the
Lord Chafe Justice, and the High Shariff of Devon, I tell e
surrender--dang this here dog--surrender, and I 'ont hoort e; and I 'ont
let the girt dog."
Lepardo answered calmly, in a voice that made my blood cold:
"Do you value your life? If so, stand out of my way. I have death here
for you, and five other dogs."
I saw the barrel of a large revolver, with a stream of light upon it.
He held it steadily as a tobacco-pipe. I am glad he owned some courage.
For my life, I could not stir. All the breath in my body was gone.
"Dear heart alaive. Thiccy man must be a fule," said the farmer quite
contemplatively. "Don't e know who I be? Do e reckon they peppermint
twistesses can hurt Jan Uxtable? I seed ever so many in a smarl shop
window to Lunnon. Surrender now wull e, thou shalt have fair traial to
Hexeter, as a Davonshire man have took e, and a dale more nor e
desarves. Sharp now: I be afeared of the girt dog getting loose. Dang
you dog. Ston up a bit." And the farmer approached him coolly,
trailing the dog along; as if what the murderer held in his hand was a
stick of Spanish liquorice.
"Fool, if you pass that stump, your great carcase shall lie on it."
"Fire away," said the farmer, "I knowed you was a coward, and I be glad
it be so. Now mind, if so be you shuts, I lets the dog go, honour
braight, because e dunno what fair play be. But if e harken to rason,
I'll give e one chance more. I'll tie up the dog with my braces to
thiccy tree--allers wear cart rope I does--and I'll tak e Quane's
prisoner, with my left hond, and t'other never out of my breeches
pocket; look e, zee, laike thiccy."
And the farmer buried his right hand in his capacious trowsery. The
Corsican seemed astonished.
"Fool-hardy clown, worthy son of a bull-headed country, stop at the
stump--then, take that."
Out blazed the pistol with a loud ring, and I saw that the farmer was
struck. He let go the dog, and leaped up; his right hand fell on
Lepardo's temple, and seemed to crush the skull in,--another shot at the
same instant and down fell the farmer heavily. "Great God," I screamed,
and leaped forward. But Giudice was loose to avenge him, though I could
swear that it was on a corpse. Corpse or living body, over and over it
rolled, with the dog's fangs in its throat. I heard a gurgle, a
tearing, and grinding, and then a loud splash in the water. The dog, and
the murderer, both of man and dog, sunk in the lake together. Twenty
feet out from the shore rose above water one moment, drawn ghastly white
in the moonbeams, the last view seen till the judgment-day of the face
of Lepardo Della Croce.
Almost drowned himself--for he would not release his father's murderer,
while a gasp was in him--staggered at last to the shore my noble and
true dog Giudice. He fell down awhile, to recover his breath, then
shook himself gratefully, tottered to me, where I knelt at the farmer's
side, and wagged his tail for approval. The water from his chest and
stomach dripped on the farmer's upturned face, and for a moment revived
him.
"No belt, no tino lad, I 'ont tak' it. Zimth laike a ticket for
chating. I dunno as I'd tak' the mony, if it warn't for the poor
chillers, naine chillers now, and anither a-coomin. Mustn't drink no
more beer, but Beany shall have his'n." And his head fell back on my
lap, and I felt sure that he was dead. How I screamed and shrieked,
till I lay beside him, with Judy licking my face, none can tell but the
gamekeepers, who had heard the shots, and came hurrying.
Of this lower end of the lake they happened to be most jealous; for a
brood of pintail ducks, very rare I believe in England, had been hatched
here this summer, and no one was allowed to go near them. Poor Judy
kept all the men aloof, till I was able to speak to him. Then I
perceived that he as well was bleeding, wounded perhaps by the poniard
as he leaped on his enemy's breast. It had entered just under the
shoulder, and narrowly missed the heart.
They took us at once towards the house, carrying the farmer and Judy on
the wooden floodgates of the stream called the "Witches' brook," which
here fell into the lake. As we entered the avenue, being obliged to
take the broad way, though much further round, we heard a carriage
coming. It was the one I had sent for Conrad, with a hurried note to
break the sad news of his father's death. He had been detained in
London by a challenge he found from Lepardo; which was of course a
stratagem to keep him out of the way. How delighted I was to see his
calm brave face again, as he leaped down, and took my tottering form in
his arms. In a minute he understood everything, and knew what was best
to be done. He would not allow them to place the poor farmer in the
carriage, as they foolishly wanted to do; but laid the rude litter down,
examined the wounds by the lamplight, and bound them up most cleverly
with the appliances of the moment.
"Oh, Conrad, will he die?"
"No, my darling, I hope not; but he must if they had let him bleed so
much longer."
"I never heard that you were a surgeon, Conny."
"Could I call myself a sculptor, without having studied anatomy? My
dearest one, how you tremble! Go home in the carriage, and give
directions for us. A room downstairs, with a wide doorway, and plenty
of air. I will stay with them, and see that they bear him gently. Poor
Judy may go with you."
Thus Conrad saw for the first time the hearth and home of his ancestors,
with his father lying dead there, and his avenger carried helpless. But
I met him at the door. Did that comfort you just a little, my darling?