Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

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“By the way,” he said suddenly, turning and looking at Rowton, who with a frown between his brows gazed gloomily into the house, “it is some years now since I saw you in our gay capital, my friend; not since 18⸺” He mentioned a date; it was the year of Anthony Follett’s death.

“I wonder,” thought Nance to herself, “if Adrian could help me in my strange and awful search. I will not think to-night of that terrible fate which hangs over me.”

She tried to force her thoughts from the subject, but try as she would, they hovered round it. She suddenly felt cold and miserable; her conscience seemed to reproach her for her present extraordinary bliss; she thought of her dead father, the desolate Grange, and the long six years of misery. Her present life seemed like a dream; she might awaken any moment to find herself back at the Grange; Rowton not allowed to visit her, her father there, and the dreadful, stingy, starved existence once more her own.

She started, hearing Adrian’s voice in her ears.