“Father, that is soon done. I will go with you.”
“With me--with me?” he complained, stamping distracted. “Where to?”
“Anywhere from here,” I pleaded. “You can’t stop. The whole country’s
up, and a second time, if they come, you’ll be caught.”
Snorting with agitation, he took off his spectacles to wipe them.
“It’s quite impossible,” he said. “I know of only one asylum beyond,
and that”--
With a quick little snatch I ravished the glasses from his hand, and,
running away with them, hid behind a chimney. For a minute or two he
raved round, stumbling, and grabbing at the air, and finally tripped
over his book and subsided, quite prostrate, upon the roof.
“Little sweep!” he panted, in a trembling voice. “My daughter--child
of Magdalen--where are you?”