Farnsworth was made of right soldierly stuff; but he felt a
distinct shiver flit along his back. His past life had not lacked
thrilling adventures and strangely varied experiences with
desperate men. Usually he met sudden emergencies rather calmly,
sometimes with phlegmatic indifference. This passionate outburst
on the priest's part, however, surprised him and awed him, while
it stirred his heart with a profound sympathy unlike anything he
had ever felt before.
Father Beret mastered himself in a moment, and passing his hand
over his face, as if to brush away the excitement, sat down again
on his stool. He appeared to collapse inwardly.
"You must excuse the weakness of an old man, my son," he said, in
a voice hoarse and shaking. "But tell me what is going to be done
with Alice. Your words--what you said--I did not understand."
He rubbed his forehead slowly, as one who has difficulty in trying
to collect his thoughts.
"I do not know what Governor Hamilton means to do, Father Beret.
It will be something devilish, however,--something that must not
happen," said Farnsworth.
Then he recounted all that Hamilton had done and said. He
described the dreary and comfortless room in which Alice was
confined, the miserable fare given her, and how she would be
exposed to the leers and low remarks of the soldiers.
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