“Do not look at me like that, Hetty; you will kill me! It was not for
the likes o’ me to have married you. Now you are so white an’ thin, an’,
Hetty, when I took ye to the church, yer cheeks were redder nor the
summer rose. Oh, forgive me, Hetty—forgive me!”
A terrible struggle in his throat compelled him to pause for a moment,
then he went on with rapid utterance, and an entreaty whose distress
could hardly find expression in words:—
“No, no, Hetty, do not ye call the little one that; I can not bar
it!—not that, not my name! I swear to ye, he shall not take after the
likes of his father—he must not be like me! Hetty, I swear to ye, if I
live, he shall never hear a low word, nor touch a drop o’ whisky! He
shall have learnin’, an’ be a gentleman—a fine gentleman. Hetty, I’ve
been a worthless dog—a brute, a beast! I can’t hardly look at ye now—I
darn’t, thar’ is sich a shinin’ light about yer face—but hear me, Hetty,
I swear to ye, the little one, even if ye will call him George Safford,
shall grow up to be a hon—Hetty, you are so still! O Hetty!—dead! she is
dead—dead!”
Both the colonel and Helen turned with astonishment to young Safford
when the old man, in his delirium, had spoken his name; but the latter,
unconscious of their surprise, with a single cry, sprang forward, and
supported the exhausted figure in his arms as it sank back.
“Father—my father!” The words broke from his lips in a voice painfully
choked by emotion.
There was another severe struggle for breath, then, with renewed
strength, the old man raised himself into a sitting posture, and,
looking round quickly, began in a hurried manner, fumbling about with
his hands,—
“I’ll go some place else; he mustn’t see me agin! He mustn’t never know
as I’m alivin’. He mustn’t never be disgraced by the likes o’ me.” He
paused a moment, and the expression of his face changed. “It’s a lie!”
he cried, fiercely; “I ain’t got no relatives, nor any body to look
after! It’s all a _lie_!” Then, shivering suddenly, he said, lowering
his voice, and speaking softly to himself: “It’s cold, but I’ll not have
no fire. Work—I must work! He’s a gentleman. I said he should be a
gentleman—and he’s got learnin’—lots o’ learnin’——No, no! I never seen
you before—I never seen you before!”
The wild, terrified voice died with a rattling sound in his throat.
“Father, father, speak to me! It is I, George!”
Safford, in his agony, fell upon his knees. During the moment that
followed there was profound silence; then Simlin opened his eyes, and
said, gently,—
“George! the little George!” A radiant light rested upon his thin face.
He raised his trembling hands, and passed them unsteadily over the man’s
head. “Yer hair is soft an’ black as hern, George. Hist! Don’t ye hear
her singin’?—Why, Hetty, I’m a-comin’, Hetty!—I’m a-comin’——”
[Illustration]
[Illustration]