A moment of stillness. Then she lifts her brown eyes to his, a smile breaking through her blushes.
“A man of your calling,” she said, “should have guessed that long ago!”
Papa Francoise never came to trial. His terror overcame his reason, and in his insanity he did what he never would have found the courage to do had he retained his senses. He hanged himself in his prison cell.
But Mamma lived on. Through her trial she raved and cursed; and she went to a life-long imprisonment raving and cursing still. Her viciousness increased with her length of days. She was the black sheep of the prison. Nothing could break her temper or curb her tongue. She was feared and hated even there. Hard labor, solitary confinement, severe punishment, all failed, and she was at last confined in a solitary cell, to rave out her life there and fret the walls with her impotent rage.
Millie, the faithful incompetent, remained in Leslie’s service until she went to a home of her own, bestowed upon her by a good-looking and industrious young mechanic.
Nance, the one-time drunkard, became the object of Leslie’s pitying care, and did not relapse into her former poverty and evil habits.
The Follingsbees, the Warburtons—all these who had been drawn together by trials and afflictions—remained an unbroken coterie of friends, who never ceased to chant Stanhope’s praises.
And little Daisy passed the years of her childhood in the firm belief that,
“God will do anything you want him to, if you only pray loud enough.”