The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - CompleteParker, Gilbert
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The Weavers: a tale of England and Egypt of fifty years ago - Complete
Parker, Gilbert
Society of Friends -- Fiction
“Fetherdon--James Fetherdon!” Involuntarily Hylda repeated the name
after him. Where had she heard the name before--or where had she seen
it? It kept flashing before her eyes. Where had she seen it? For days
she had been rummaging among old papers in the library of the Cloistered
House, and in an old box full of correspondence and papers of the late
countess, who had died suddenly. Was it among them that she had seen the
name? She could not tell. It was all vague, but that she had seen it or
heard it she was sure.
“Your father’s people, you never knew them?”
He shook his head. “Nor of them. Here was my home--I had no desire to
discover them. We draw in upon ourselves here.”
“There is great force in such a life and such a people,” she answered.
“If the same concentration of mind could be carried into the wide life
of the world, we might revolutionise civilisation; or vitalise and
advance it, I mean--as you are doing in Egypt.”
“I have done nothing in Egypt. I have sounded the bugle--I have not had
my fight.”
“That is true in a sense,” she replied. “Your real struggle is before
you. I do not know why I say it, but I do say it; I feel it. Something
here”--she pressed her hand to her heart--“something here tells me that
your day of battle is yet to come.” Her eyes were brimming and full of
excitement. “We must all help you.” She gained courage with each word.
“You must not fight alone. You work for civilisation; you must have
civilisation behind you.” Her hands clasped nervously; there was a catch
in her throat. “You remember then, that I said I would call to you one
day, as your Uncle Benn did, and you should hear and answer me. It shall
not be that I will call. You--you will call, and I will help you if
I can. I will help, no matter what may seem to prevent, if there is
anything I can do. I, surely I, of all the world owe it to you to do
what I can, always.
“I owe so much--you did so much. Oh, how it haunts me! Sometimes in the
night I wake with a start and see it all--all!”
The flood which had been dyked back these years past had broken loose in
her heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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