Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

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“You must go on employing Crossley, the detective; you must use your woman’s wit—you must never slacken your zeal.”

“Oh! father, the thought is too horrible; let me drop it.”

“Never, child; I feel that I could haunt you if you did not do it. Find the man who killed Anthony; promise to carry on my work, or I curse you before I die. It will be an awful thing for you to live under your dying father’s curse.”

“I am superstitious—you have made me superstitious,” answered Nancy; “my nerves are not as strong as the nerves of girls who have lived happier lives; I do not believe I could live under your curse.”

“You could not, it would wither you up, so awful would be its quality; you would die or go mad.”

“I could not bear it,” said Nancy, again shuddering as she spoke.

“Then take my blessing instead, do my work, take up the burden bravely.”

“But is there any chance of my succeeding?” she answered, a note of wavering coming into her voice. “If you have failed to find Anthony’s murderer, how is it possible for me to succeed? All your savings have gone to detectives. All the money you earned when you were rich and famous has vanished. We have stinted ourselves and starved ourselves, and brooded over this awful thing until we have scarcely been like human beings. Can you not leave revenge to Heaven? Why should you ruin my young life?”