Читать книгу Sydney Lisle, the Heiress of St. Quentin онлайн

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“My people cast me off completely,” he said, one day, when the end was near, “and they are not at all likely to receive my child.”

“My dear boy,” said the doctor, “don’t you worry. We couldn’t part with the little lassie now; if I would, my wife wouldn’t. Give her to us, and she shall be our child. She has our love already, and, God helping us! she shall have a happy home.”

“I can’t thank you,” Lord Francis had said hoarsely; and the doctor had said “Don’t!”

It was in his arms that Lord Francis died three days later.

Dr. Chichester had written to the poor boy’s eldest brother, who had now become the marquess, telling him that Frank was dying; but no notice had been taken of the letter. Lord Francis was laid beside his wife in the cemetery, and little Sydney grew from babyhood to childhood and from childhood to girlhood, with nothing but the difference of surname and the occasional telling of an old story with the saddest parts left out, to remind her that she was not a Chichester by birth.