But as sure as there is a Heaven
above us, Francis, poor Cousin Winslow was trying to escape to us of
her own Kindred, and met with cruel Usage. Her Blood is on their
Heads.'
'There!' said Frank Fordyce. 'This Francis challenged Philip
Winslow's eldest son, a mere boy, three days after he joined the
army before Lille, and shot him like a dog. I turned over the
letter about it in searching for these. I can't boast of my
ancestors more than you can. But may God accept this work of yours,
and take away the guilt of blood from both of us.'
'And have you thought what is best to be done?' asked Clarence,
raising himself on his cushions.
'Have you?' asked the Vicar.
'Oh yes; I have had my dreams.'
They put their castles together, and they turned out to be for an
orphanage, or rather asylum, not too much hampered with strict
rules, combined with a convalescent home. The battle of sisterhoods
was not yet fought out, and we were not quite prepared for them; but
Frank Fordyce had, as he said, 'the two best women in the world in
his eye' to make a beginning.
There was full time to think and discuss the scheme, for our patient
was in no condition to move for many weeks, lying day after day on a
couch just within the window of our sitting-room, which was as
nearly as possible in the sea, so that he constantly had the
freshness of its breezes, the music of its ripple, and the sight of
its waves, and seemed to find endless pleasure in watching the red
sails, the puffs of steam, and the frolics of the children, simple
or gentle, on the beach.
Pages:
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400