Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

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As Nancy seated herself on the edge of the bed, her face grew startlingly livid.

“You cannot surely mean what you are saying, father,” she replied.

“I mean,” said Dr. Follett in a steady and strong voice, “exactly what I say. I have failed to avenge your brother’s death; you must finish my work.”

“I am sorry,” said Nancy. “I am sorry at an hour like this to have to refuse you anything, but I cannot do what you ask.”

“I will not die until you promise,” replied the doctor. “For six years I have done all that man could do. I have not left a single stone unturned, I have not neglected the slightest clue, yet I have failed. The man who murdered Anthony has still to be found. If he walks this earth he shall be found. I die, but you must find him.”

“You forget that I am a girl,” said Nancy; “no girl could undertake work of this kind.”

“Pooh! what does sex matter?” replied the doctor. “Does the fact of your being a girl alter love? Did not you love the dead boy? I die. It is the will of the Almighty to take me away before my work is accomplished; but I leave behind me a child, my lineal descendant, the loving playmate of the murdered boy, the girl into whose ears he whispered his young secrets, the girl who kissed his young lips. This girl is no weakling, she can take up my work; she shall. I insist, I command, I will listen to no silly cowardly entreaties. Do you hear me, Nancy? I die before another sun rises, but my unfinished work drops on to your shoulders; you dare not refuse me—do you hear what I am saying? You dare not.”