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Updated: June 3, 2025
"Because," said I, starting from his touch, "I am son to the man you foully murdered by false accusation. I am Martin Conisby, Lord Wendover of Shere and last of my line!" Now at this he drew away and away, staring on me great-eyed and I heard the breath gasp between his pallid lips. "What do you here, my lord?" "Seek my just vengeance!" "The vengeance of a Conisby!" he murmured.
Ah God!" she cried, "Do you think because I do not weep that my heart is not full of misery and grief to lose thus home and friends and country and live 'prisoned and solitary with such as you, that think but on your own selfish woes and in your big body bear the soul of a fretful babe? I hate you, Martin Conisby, scorn and despise you! And now give me the tiller and begone to your sleep!"
"Martin Conisby," said he, looking on me through his tears, "through you, by God's grace, I know again the joy of living, and, God aiding me, you shall yet know the like happiness an I may compass it!"
For look now, here are we, by no will of our own, God knoweth, companions in misfortune, let us then aid each other that our troubles be the easier. And O pray do you forget Martin Conisby his woes awhile." And away she goes, and getting to her knees before one of the lockers, begins rearranging the contents, singing away the while merry as any grig.
My speculations were banished by the opening of a door near by and a light appeared, by which I saw myself lying in a narrow space shut off by a valance or curtain that yet showed a strip of carpet beyond, and all at once upon this carpet came a little, buckled shoe. I was yet staring on this in dumb amaze when a voice spoke softly: "Are you there, Martin Conisby?
For how may I, that fear not God's dreadful tempest, stoop to fear poor Martin Conisby?" "Stoop, madam?" I cried hoarsely. "Aye, stoop," says she. "The wrongs you have endured have plunged you to the very deeps, have stripped you of your manhood. And yet yours is no murderer's face even when you scowl and clench your fist!
Have ye proof of Sir Richard's black treachery confess!" Now at this her eyes quailed before my look and she shrank away. "God forgive him!" she whispered, bowing stately head. "Speak!" says I, fiercely. "Have ye the truth of it at last?" "'Tis that bringeth me here to you, Martin Conisby, to confess this wrong on his behalf and on his behalf to offer such reparation as I may.
I bethought me how long and deadly had been this feud of ours, handed down from one generation to another, a dark, blood-smirched record of bitter wrongs bitterly avenged. "To hate like a Brandon and revenge like a Conisby!"
And as I sat, my fists clenched, scowling at the sun-ray, it verily seemed as he had read these my thoughts. "Martin Conisby," said he, his voice grown stronger. "Oh, Martin, think it not shame to pity thine enemy; to cherish them that despitefully use you; this is Godlike. I was a proud man and merciless but I have learned much by sufferings, and for the wrongs I did you bitterly have I repented.
"Enough, sir, I would be alone." "Furthermore," he continued and with another airy motion of his white fingers, "I would have you particularly remark that if my Lady Brandon, lacking better company, hath stooped to any small familiarities with you, these must be forgot and " "Ha!" I cried, springing to my feet, "Begone, paltry fool, lest I kick you harder than I did last time at Conisby Shene."
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