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- 6960
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.921Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 6881
- text
- thing? art thou of such divineness, that I may speak straight on, in all
my thoughts, heedless whither they may flow, or what things they may
float to me?"
"Straight on, and fearlessly," said Pierre.
"By chance I saw thy mother, Pierre, and under such circumstances that I
_knew_ her to be thy mother; and--but shall I go on?"
"Straight on, my Isabel; thou didst see my mother--well?"
"And when I saw her, though I spake not to her, nor she to me, yet
straightway my heart knew that she would love me not."
"Thy heart spake true," muttered Pierre to himself; "go on."
"I re-swore an oath never to reveal myself to thy mother."
"Oath well sworn," again he muttered; "go on."
"But I saw _thee_, Pierre; and, more than ever filled my mother toward
thy father, Pierre, then upheaved in me. Straightway I knew that if ever
I should come to be made known to thee, then thy own generous love would
open itself to me."
"Again thy heart spake true," he murmured; "go on--and didst thou
re-swear again?"
"No, Pierre; but yes, I did. I swore that thou wert my brother; with
love and pride I swore, that young and noble Pierre Glendinning was my
brother!"
"And only that?"
"Nothing more, Pierre; not to thee even, did I ever think to reveal
myself."
"How then? thou _art_ revealed to me."
"Yes; but the great God did it, Pierre--not poor Bell. Listen.
"I felt very dreary here; poor, dear Delly--thou must have heard
something of her story--a most sorrowful house, Pierre. Hark! that is
her seldom-pausing pacing thou hearest from the floor above. So she
keeps ever pacing, pacing, pacing; in her track, all thread-bare,
Pierre, is her chamber-rug. Her father will not look upon her; her
mother, she hath cursed her to her face. Out of yon chamber, Pierre,
Delly hath not slept, for now four weeks and more; nor ever hath she
once laid upon her bed; it was last made up five weeks ago; but paces,
paces, paces, all through the night, till after twelve; and then sits
vacant in her chair. Often I would go to her to comfort her; but she
says, 'Nay, nay, nay,' to me through the door; says 'Nay, nay, nay,' and
only nay to me, through the bolted door; bolted three weeks ago--when I
by cunning arts stole her dead baby from her, and with these fingers,
alone, by night, scooped out a hollow, and, seconding heaven's own
charitable stroke, buried that sweet, wee symbol of her not unpardonable
shame far from the ruthless foot of man--yes, bolted three weeks ago,
not once unbolted since; her food I must thrust through the little
window in her closet. Pierre, hardly these two handfuls has she eaten in
a week."
"Curses, wasp-like, cohere on that villain, Ned, and sting him to his
death!" cried Pierre, smit by this most piteous tale. "What can be done
for her, sweet Isabel; can Pierre do aught?"
"If thou or I do not, then the ever-hospitable grave will prove her
quick refuge, Pierre. Father and mother both, are worse than dead and
gone to her. They would have turned her forth, I think, but for my own
poor petitionings, unceasing in her behalf!"
Pierre's deep concern now gave place to a momentary look of benevolent
intelligence.
"Isabel, a thought of benefit to Delly has just entered me; but I am
still uncertain how best it may be acted on. Resolved I am though to
succor her. Do thou still hold her here yet awhile, by thy sweet
petitionings, till my further plans are more matured. Now run on with
thy story, and so divert me from the pacing;--her every step steps in my
soul."
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