"
She put a hand to her throat as if something had tightened there.
"Marshal, I beg of you to tell me the truth, the truth! Is my
father dying? Is he? He--they will not tell me the truth. And I .
. . never to hear his voice again! The truth, for pity's sake!"
She caught at his hands and strove to read his eyes. "For pity's
sake!"
He drew his breath deeply. He dared not look into her eyes for
fear she might see the tears in his; so he bent hastily and
pressed her hands to his lips. But in his heart he knew that his
promise to the dead was gone with the winds, and that he would
shed the last drop of blood in his withered veins for the sake
of this sad, lonely child.
"Your father, my child, will never stand up straight again," he
said. "As for the rest, that is in the hands of God. But I swear
to you that this dried-up old heart beats only for you. I will
stand or fall with you, in good times or bad." And he rubbed his
nose more fiercely than ever. "Had I a daughter-- But there! I
have none."
"My heart is breaking," she said, with a little sob. She sank
back, her head drooped to the arm of the bench, and she made no
effort to stem the flood of tears.
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