Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

19 страница из 83

The dying man lay in the middle of the bed; he was raised by several pillows and was breathing loud and heavily. His eyes, with dark shadows under them, were directed anxiously towards the door through which his young daughter entered.

“Come here, Nancy, be quick,” he said, speaking in an imperative voice and with wonderful strength for a dying man.

She hurried across the room and stood by the bedside, looking down at him.

“The Almighty has been good to me and has given me sufficient strength to say what is necessary,” panted the doctor. “I am dying.”

Nancy opened her lips to speak, but no sound issued from them.

“I am dying,” said Dr. Follett again. “You need not try to contradict me, Nance, I know what you would say. You have been a good girl, and you will, in the ordinary course of nature, miss me for a little; you will also as naturally forget me after a short time. I have been a burden to you and have led you a weary life, but we have no time to go into that now. Death is in a hurry and I must do something before I go to him. I have sent for you to get you to make me a promise.”