‘’Tis that that makes me mad. I know it. Oh! why are you not like other children, Ferdinand? When your uncle left us, my father said, “Good-bye,” and shook his hand; and he—he scarcely kissed us, he was so glad to leave his home; but you-tomorrow; no, not to-morrow. Can it be to-morrow?’
‘Mother, let me get up and call my father, and tell him I will not go.’
‘Good God! what words are these? Not go! ‘Tis all your hope to go; all ours, dear child. What would your father say were he to hear me speak thus? Oh! that I had not entered! What a fool I am!’
‘Dearest, dearest mother, believe me we shall soon meet.’
‘Shall we soon meet? God! how joyous will be the day.’
‘And I—I will write to you by every ship.’
‘Oh! never fail, Ferdinand, never fail.’
‘And send you a gazelle, and you shall call it by my name, dear mother.’
‘Darling child!’
‘You know I have often stayed a month at grand-papa’s, and once six weeks. Why! eight times six weeks, and I shall be home again.’
‘Home! home again! eight times six weeks; a year, nearly a year! It seems eternity. Winter, and spring, and summer, and winter again, all to pass away. And for seventeen years he has scarcely been out of my sight. Oh! my idol, my beloved, my darling Ferdinand, I cannot believe it; I cannot believe that we are to part.’
‘Mother, dearest mother, think of my father; think how much his hopes are placed on me; think, dearest mother, how much I have to do. All now depends on me, you know. I must restore our house.’
‘O! Ferdinand, I dare not express the thoughts that rise upon me; yet I would say that, had I but my child, I could live in peace; how, or where, I care not.’
‘Dearest mother, you unman me.’
Prev.
Back
Top