The Trial; Or, More Links of the Daisy ChainYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
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The Trial; Or, More Links of the Daisy Chain
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Trials (Murder) -- Fiction
With full heart, and voice almost unmanageable, Mary prompted the few
simple words that had come to her in that hour of sorrow. She looked
up, from stooping to the child's ear, to see her father at the door,
gazing at them with face greatly moved. The children greeted him
fondly, and he sat down with one on each knee, and caressed them as he
looked them well over, drawing out their narration of the wonderful
things 'she' had done, the fingers pointing to designate who she was.
His look at her over his spectacles made Mary's heart bound and feel
compensated for whatever Mr. Henry Ward might say of her. When the
children had finished their story, he beckoned her out of the room,
promising them that he would not keep her long.
'Well done, Molly,' he said smiling, 'it is well to have daughters good
for something. You had better stay with them till that poor maid has
had her sleep out, and can come to them.'
'I should like to stay with them all day, only that Ethel must want me.'
'You had better go home by dinner-time, that Ethel may get some air.
Perhaps I shall want one of you in the evening to be with them at the
time of the funeral.'
'So soon!'
'Yes, it must be. Better for all, and Henry is glad it should be so.
He is out on the sofa to-day, but he is terribly cut up.'
'And Leonard?'
'I see some improvement--Burdon does not--but I think with Heaven's
good mercy we may drag him through; the pulse is rather better. Now I
must go. You'll not wait dinner for me.'
Mary spent the next hour in amusing the children by the fabrication of
the dolls' wardrobe, and had made them exceedingly fond of her, so that
there was a very poor welcome when their own Mary at length appeared,
much shocked at the duration of her own slumbers, and greatly obliged
to Miss May. The little girls would scarcely let Mary go, though she
pacified them by an assurance that she or her sister would come in the
evening.
'Don't let it be your sister. You come, and finish our dolls' frocks!'
and they hung about her, kissing her, and trying to extract a promise.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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