Part 122 (1/2)
”What trial, my boy?”
”Sir Francis Levison's.”
”It was over yesterday. Never trouble your head about him, my brave boy, he is not worth it.”
”But I want to know. Will they hang him?”
”He is sentenced to it.”
”Did he kill Hallijohn?”
”Yes. Who has been talking to him upon the subject?” Mr. Carlyle continued to Madame Vine, with marked displeasure in his tone.
”Wilson mentioned it, sir,” was the low answer.
”Oh, papa! What will he do? Will Jesus forgive him?”
”We must hope it.”
”Do you hope it, papa?”
”Yes. I wish that all the world may be forgiven, William, whatever may have been their sins. My child, how restless you seem!”
”I can't keep in one place; the bed gets wrong. Pull me up on the pillow, will you Madame Vine?”
Mr. Carlyle gently lifted the boy himself.
”Madame Vine is an untiring nurse to you, William,” he observed, gratefully casting a glance toward her in the distance, where she had retreated, and was shaded by the window curtain.
William made no reply; he seemed to be trying to recall something. ”I forget! I forget!”
”Forget what?” asked Mr. Carlyle.
”It was something I wanted to ask you, or to tell you. Isn't Lucy come home?”
”I suppose not.”
”Papa, I want Joyce.”
”I will send her home to you. I am going for your mamma after dinner.”
”For mamma?--oh, I remember now. Papa, how shall I know mamma in Heaven?
Not this mamma.”
Mr. Carlyle did not immediately reply. The question may have puzzled him. William continued hastily; possibly mistaking the motive of the silence.
”She will be in Heaven, you know.”
”Yes, yes, child,” speaking hurriedly.
”Madame Vine knows she will. She saw her abroad; and mamma told her that--what was it, madame?”