CHAPTER LXII
THE WAY OUT OF IT
"My father! my father! I must see my father. Who are you, that dare to
keep me out? Let me know the worst, and try to bear it. What are any of
you to him?"
"But, my dear child," Lord Southdown answered, holding the door against
poor Faith, as she strove to enter the room of death, "wait just one
minute, until we have lifted him to the sofa, and let us bring your poor
sister out."
"I have no sister. She has killed my father, and the best thing she can
do is to die. I feel that I could shoot her, if I had a pistol. Let me
see him, where he lies."
"But, my poor dear, you must think of others. Your dear father is beyond
all help. Your gallant lover lies on the grass. They hope to bring him
round, God willing! Go where you can be of use."
"How cruel you are! You must want to drive me mad. Let his father and
mother see to him, while I see to my own father. If you had a daughter,
you would understand. Am I crying? Do I even tremble?"
The Marquis offered his arm, and she took it in fear of falling, though
she did not tremble; so he led her to her father's last repose. The poor
Admiral lay by the open window, with his head upon a stool which Faith
had worked. The ghastly wound was in his broad smooth forehead, and his
fair round cheeks were white with death. But the heart had not quite
ceased to beat, and some remnant of the mind still hovered somewhere
in the lacerated brain.
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