“Lord, have pity on them two fatherless children!” repeated Tommy. “Let's say it together.”
And so the two babies knelt on the brink of the cliff, and, raising the bound hands together, looked up at the sky, and ungrammatically said, “Lord have pity on we two fatherless children!” And then they kissed each other, and “did it”.
The intelligence, transmitted by the ever-active semaphore, reached the Commandant in the midst of dinner, and in his agitation he blurted it out.
“These are the two poor things I saw in the morning,” cried Sylvia. “Oh, Maurice, these two poor babies driven to suicide!”
“Condemning their young souls to everlasting fire,” said Meekin, piously.
“Mr. Meekin! How can you talk like that? Poor little creatures! Oh, it's horrible! Maurice, take me away.” And she burst into a passion of weeping. “I can't help it, ma'am,” says Burgess, rudely, ashamed. “It ain't my fault.”
“She's nervous,” says Frere, leading her away. “You must excuse her. Come and lie down, dearest.”
“I will not stay here longer,” said she. “Let us go to-morrow.”
“We can't,” said Frere.