"Was there ever," said I--"ever since the world began, such ecstasy as I
feel now? After this what can there be for me but death--well earned and
well paid for? Welcome and lovely death!"
[Illustration]
"You have not yet thought, Mr. Ibbetson--you have not realized what life
may have in store for you if--if all you have said about your affection
for me is true. Oh, it is too terrible for me to think of, I know, that
you, scarcely more than a boy, should have to spend the rest of your
life in miserable confinement and unprofitable monotonous toil. But
there is _another_ side to that picture.
"Now listen to your old friend's story--poor little Mimsey's confession.
I will make it as short as I can.
"Do you remember when you first saw me, a sickly, plain, sad little
girl, at the avenue gate, twenty years ago?
"Le Pere Francois was killing a fowl--cutting its throat with a
clasp-knife--and the poor thing struggled frantically in his grasp as
its blood flowed into the gutter. A group of boys were looking on in
great glee, and all the while Pere Francois was gossiping with M. le
Cure, who didn't seem to mind in the least. I was fainting with pity and
horror. Suddenly you came out of the school opposite with Alfred and
Charlie Plunket, and saw it all, and in a fit of noble rage you called
Pere Francois a 'sacred pig of assassin'--which, as you know, is very
rude in French--and struck him as near his face as you could reach.
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