Читать книгу A Son of Ishmael. A Novel онлайн

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Rowton made a stride forward, and the next moment had clasped Nancy Follett to his heart.

“This is good,” he said. “I have hungered for a kiss. What is the matter, sweetheart? you tremble as though you were an aspen leaf.”

“Because I am so glad to see you,” she replied. “But how did you know? What brought you here at this hour?”

“By good luck, I met Dr. Read,” exclaimed Rowton; “he told me of your trouble. There, sweetheart, you need not tremble; I am here to shelter you.”

“But you don’t know everything, Adrian,” she said in a sort of choking whisper. “Things have changed since I saw you last.”

“You need not tell me that, I know all about it,” he replied. “Your father is dying and you are miserable—but things must be better when I am with you. Let us come indoors; you will catch your death of cold if you stay out in an awful gale of this sort, besides, we can scarcely hear our own voices; come, I suppose you have some sort of fire in that big, desolate dining-room.”

“Just a spark,” she answered, with a smile, which she quickly repressed. “You seem to lift a weight off my heart,” she continued. “It is strength and real gladness to have you close to me; but, Adrian, I cannot stay with you; he is dying—the doctor says he will not last till morning.”