But, thank God, the spring is before us. Yes, yes;
the soft air and sunshine, and then she'll be out again. You know the
garden, and her visits, and her little walks. So I don't fret or
despair. Oh, no.' He spoke very gently, in a reverie, after his wont,
and he sighed heavily. 'You know 'tis growing late in life with me,
Captain Devereux,' he resumed, 'and I would fain see her united to a
kind and tender partner, for I think she's a fragile little flower. Poor
little Lily! Something, I often think, of her dear mother's delicacy,
and I have always nursed her, you know. She has been a great pet;' and
he stopped suddenly, and walked to the window. 'A great pet. Indeed, if
she could have been spoiled, I should have spoiled her long ago, but she
could not. Ah, no! Sweet little Lily!'
Then quite firmly but gently Parson Walsingham went on:--
'Now, the doctors say she mustn't be agitated, and I can't allow it,
Captain Devereux. I gave her your message--let me see--why 'tis four,
ay, five months ago. I gave it with a good will, for I thought well of
you.'
'And you don't any longer--there, 'tis all out,' broke in Devereux,
fiercely.
Pages:
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596