"Andre Norton - The Opal-Eyed Fan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Norton Andre)

they can take passage to Key West. And often-times there are more passengers than we are able to shelter here. But
you and Mr. Rooke are the Captain's guests. Please understand that he would be greatly of-fended if you believed
otherwise."
There was no possibility of questioning further that emphatic statement, Persis decided. Perhaps Molly had
misunderstood the man on the wharf or he had been teasing her.
"Thank you for explaining," she said contritely. "But I still feel it improper to keep the master of the house out
of his own—"
"Nonsense!" Mrs. Pryor was brisk. "He would feel it improper to have it otherwise. You can hear it from his
own lips, if necessary." There was a shadowing of of-fense in that which Persis was quick to note.
"No, your word is quite enough, Mrs. Pryor. And I thank you for it."
The lady, who had been somewhat on her dignity, relaxed a little.
"You are very welcome, I am sure. By the way, Dr. Veering is to see your uncle this afternoon. If you have
any questions to ask him, that will be an excellent time to do so."
But those questions were never to be asked. For when Persis reentered the house it was to hear Shu-bal's thin
old voice raised loud enough to echo through the hallways.
"Miss Persis, oh, Miss Persis!"
She ran for the stairs, one hand on the banister to drag herself up there faster. The old servant stood in the
door of her uncle's room, his face gray-white with fear.
"Miss Persis-he-he-"
She pushed past Shubal. Her uncle rested half off the bed, his face as blanched as Shubal's. One
hand clutched the netting, which had torn in his grip. He looked at her, his eyes wild as she had never seen
them before.
"Amos—traitor—Amos—!"
"I went for some water." Shubal shuffled along to join her. "He was just lying quiet. I thought he
was as-leep. But—Miss Persis—he must have tried to get up— to get to the window—see?"
He pointed to a bedside table now tipped over on the floor, the candlestick hurled by the fall nearly
into the middle of the room.
"Why would he get up, Miss Persis? What did he want?"
"I don't know. He must be delirious. Shubal, go down to Mrs. Pryor, ask her to send for the doctor
at once. No, first, let's get him back into bed."
As thin as Uncle Augustin had become, it took the two of them to settle him back on his pillows
again, and his breathing was very slow and shallow.
"He must have heard them," Shubal said in a half whisper, motioning toward the window. "Loud
talk down there. Two men were quarreling. I heard only a few words when I came back and found him so.
He—he kept saying that Amos was back—that he had come to kill him!"
"It's all right now, Shubal. You go, I'll stay with him."
Persis gently freed the hand clawing at the bed net-ting and held it between hers.
"It's all right, Uncle Augustin. There is no one here. Don't you remember—Amos died a long time ago.
Don't you remember telling me that? He can't be here."
He stared at her blindly. There was a gathering of white froth at one corner of his mouth and he still struggled
to get up, but such was his weakness she was able to keep him in bed.
"Amos traitor—said—murder— I never murdered—" Then his body went limp and his hand relaxed in her
grasp. For the last time those vivid blue eyes closed.


4
Through the dark of the night the wind whispered in a way Persis had never before been aware of hearing. From her
unbarred window she saw only a faint glim-mer which must be a lantern on the wharf. But she did not focus on that,
rather her eyes turned inward on pictures her memory presented.
Uncle Augustin was—gone.