Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Kate Vernon: A Tale. Vol. 2 (of 3) by Mrs. Alexander (ereader for textbooks txt) 📖
- Author: Mrs. Alexander
Book online «Kate Vernon: A Tale. Vol. 2 (of 3) by Mrs. Alexander (ereader for textbooks txt) 📖». Author Mrs. Alexander
"What is the date?" asked the Colonel, feebly.
"It has none, except the place; she evidently writes in the greatest haste."
"Look at the cover."
"It is so rubbed and soiled I can make nothing out, but a 'Fir' and 'Marzo.'"
"She will be here to-morrow," said the Colonel, with sudden decision. "My God, I thank thee!" he murmured. "Kate, my love, I feel exhausted, some wine."
She flew to get it, and, after taking a little, he leaned back, drowsily, she settled the cushions for his head, and knelt down to feel if his feet were cold; he stretched out his hand feebly, and laid it on her head; the old hound, whom they had not noticed, drew closer, and[308] licked the hand that had so often caressed him.
"God bless you darling, from the hour of your birth, you have been an unalloyed blessing to me."
Kate rose, and kissed him fondly—
"Go to sleep, dearest grandpapa."
"Yes, for she will be here to-morrow. I feel so happy, Kate!"
"Thank Heaven!" she ejaculated; and returning to her seat, watched the sleeper for some time, rejoicing to see an expression of almost heavenly happiness and calm gradually stealing over his features. The old hound, too, shared her vigil, laying his head couched on his fore-paws, his eyes fixed on his master. So she sat, sometimes, raising her heart to God, with a feeling of thankfulness, though she knew not why, except that she ever looked, in spite of her cooler reason, to Lady Desmond's return as to a great deliverance.
[309]
The evening closed in, and still her grandfather lay in calm, unbroken repose. The old dog, at length, grew restless, he raised his head, and half rose up, as if to approach his master, and when Kate spoke to him, lay down again, with a low, complaining whine. Miss Vernon rung—
"I wish," said she, as Mrs. O'Toole entered, "you would take Cormac away, I never saw him so troublesome before. I am afraid he will disturb grandpapa from that sweet sound sleep."
"Come with me, Cormac."
The hound wagged his tail, turning his dull eyes on her for a moment, but immediately refixing them on his master, with a watchful air, his ears erected, as if in expectation. Mrs. O'Toole crossed the room quickly, and stooping to look into the old man's face, started back, clasping her hands, with an expression of awe and terror on her countenance.
[310]
"Nurse!" exclaimed Kate, springing to her side; "what, what is the matter?"
"Hush, hush, mee own darlint child," whispered Mrs. O'Toole. "He's not there—he's with the blessed saints in Heaven!"
END OF VOL. II.
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