CHAPTER VI.
"Who redeemeth thy life from destruction."
"Strike--for your altars and your fires;
Strike--for the green graves of your sires;
God, and your native land!"
The hours that followed were full of suffering to the heart. John came
back with the doctors he summoned, and during their investigation he
walked restlessly up and down the room in which the tragedy had
occurred. Richard never noticed him. He sat in a chair by the open
window, with his head in his hands, quite overcome by grief and
remorse. It was in John's strong arms Phyllis had been carried to her
own room, and no one now disputed his right to watch and to wait for
the doctors' verdict. He was very white; white through all the tan
of wind and sun; and, as he paced the room, he wrung his hands in an
agony beyond speech. Terrible, indeed, to both men was the silent
house, with the faint noises of hurried footsteps and closing doors up
stairs! What a mockery seemed the cool, clear sunshine outside! What a
strange sadness there was in the call of the crickets, and the faint
blooms of the last few flowers! There are scenes and sounds which, as
backgrounds to great events in life, photograph themselves in their
smallest details upon the mind. In the midst of his distress John could
not help noticing the pattern of the wall-paper, and the rustling of
the dropping leaves and nuts in the garden.
Pages:
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157