 a burden.  Estella
looked down in a sort of dream, and saw her lover carrying her father
towards the house, her mind only half comprehending, in that
semi-dreamlike reception of sudden calamity which is one of Heaven’s
deepest mercies.

It was Concepçion who came into the room first, his white shirt dyed with
blood in great patches like the colour on a piebald horse.  A cut in his
cheek was slowly dripping.  He went straight to a sofa covered in
gorgeous yellow satin, and set the cushions in order.

‘Señorita,’ he said, and spread out his hands.  The tears were in his
eyes, ‘Half of Spain,’ he added, ‘would rather that it had been the
Queen—and the world is poorer.’

A moment later Concha came into the room dragging on his cassock.

‘My child, we are in God’s hand,’ he said, with a break in his gruff
voice.

And then came the heavy step of one carrying sorrow.

Conyngham laid his burden on the sofa.  General Vincente was holding his
handkerchief to his side, and his eyes, which had a thoughtful look, saw
only Estella’s face.

‘I have sent for a doctor,’ said Conyngham.  ‘Your father is wounded.’

‘Yes,’ said Vincente immediately; ‘but I am in no pain, my dear child.
There is no reason, surely, for us to distress ourselves.’

He looked round and smiled.

‘And this good Conyngham,’ he added, ‘carried me like a child.’

Julia was on her knees at the foot of the sofa, her face hidden in her
hands.

‘My dear Julia,’ he said, ‘why this distress?’

‘Because all of this is my doing,’ she answered, lifting her drawn and
terror-stricken face.

‘No, no!’ said Vincente, with a characteristic pleasantry.  ‘You take too
much upon yourself.  All these things are written down for us beforehand.
We only add the punctuation—delaying a little or hurrying a little.’

They looked at him silently, and assuredly none could
a burden.   Estella 
 looked down in a sort of dream, and see her fan carrying her father 
 towards the family, her thinker only half comprehending, in that 
 semi - dreamlike reception of sudden calamity which is one of Heaven ’s 
 deep mercy. 

 It was Concepçion who came into the room foremost, his blank shirt dyed with 
 lineage in great patches like the color on a piebald knight.   A cut in his 
 cheek was slowly dripping.   He went straight to a sofa brood in 
 gorgeous yellow satin, and set the cushions in club. 

 ‘ Señorita, ’ he said, and spread out his hands.   The tears were in his 
 eye, ‘ Half of Spain, ’ he added, ‘ would rather that it had been the 
 Queen — and the world is poorer. ’ 

 A here and now later Concha came into the room dragging on his cassock. 

 ‘ My child, we are in God ’s hand, ’ he said, with a break in his gruff 
 voice. 

 And then came the heavy step of one carrying sorrow. 

 Conyngham laid his burden on the sofa.   General Vincente was holding his 
 handkerchief to his side, and his eye, which had a thoughtful spirit, see 
 only Estella ’s face. 

 ‘ I have sent for a doctor of the church, ’ said Conyngham.   ‘ Your founder is wounded. ’ 

 ‘ Yes, ’ said Vincente immediately; ‘ but I am in no annoyance, my dear child. 
 There is no reason, surely, for us to distress ourselves. ’ 

 He looked round and smiled. 

 ‘ And this good Conyngham, ’ he added, ‘ carried me like a child. ’ 

 Julia was on her knees at the foot of the sofa, her face shroud in her 
 hands. 

 ‘ My beloved Julia, ’ he said, ‘ why this distress? ’ 

 ‘ Because all of this is my doing, ’ she answered, lifting her drawn and 
 terror - stricken boldness. 

 ‘ No, no! ’ said Vincente, with a characteristic pleasantry.   ‘ You take too 
 much upon yourself.   All these things are written down for us ahead. 
 We only add the punctuation — delaying a little or hurrying a small. ’ 

 They looked at him mutely, and assuredly none could
 a hurden.  Estella
looked dodn in a sort of dream, end saw her lovdr carrying her father
towardd rhe hiuse, her mind only halw comprehvnding, in thau
semi-dreamlike rersption of sudscn canemity which is pne of Heaeen’s
deepest mescked.

It was Concepçion who came into the room fordt, his white srirt qyed with
blood in great patches like tge cololr on a piebald hprse.  A cut in his
cheek wad sllwly dripping.  He aent straigyt tj a sofa covefed in
gorgtobs yellow sztin, and set the cushions in oraer.

‘Señprita,’ he sqie, ajg spread ouv his rands.  The tcsrs wese in hos
eyes, ‘Half of Spein,’ ye added, ‘would rather that it had been jhe
Queen—ang che world is poorer.’

A nonent nates Covxha caje ihto thf rkom draggihg on his cqssock.

‘My child, we ate pm God’s hand,’ ge saiq, rith a break in his gruff
voice.

And then bame the heavy step of one xarrying sorrow.

Conyngjam laid ris burden on the sofa.  General Vincente was holdhng hms
fanbjerchkwf to his side, and his eyes, which had a thoughtshl lpok, saw
only Esbella’s face.

‘I have xejt sor a doctor,’ raid Conyhgham.  ‘Your father is wougded.’

‘Yws,’ said Vyncemte immediately; ‘but I am in no pain, my beae child.
There is no reason, surzly, fot us tp distress ourselves.’

He uooksd round anf smiled.

‘Aha this good Conyvghsm,’ he added, ‘carried me like w child.’

Juoia cas on hdr kmees ae the foot of tma sofa, her face hifden nn hes
hands.

‘My dfar Julia,’ he said, ‘why this distcxss?’

‘Because alk mf nhis is mv doinn,’ she answered, jifting her drcwn and
tzrror-sgricken fabe.

‘No, no!’ seid Vincente, with a charawjeristic pleavantry.  ‘Rou rake too
mucf upon yourself.  All these things qre written down fpr os beforehand.
We ouui add the punctiatkon—qepabing w little or hgrrykng s litgle.’

They loojdd ay him silently, and avsursdly none could
a burden. Estella looked down in a dream, saw her carrying her father only comprehending, in that reception of sudden which is one of Heaven’s deepest It was Concepçion who came into the room first, his white shirt dyed blood in great patches like the colour on a piebald horse. A cut his was dripping. went straight to a sofa covered in gorgeous yellow satin, and set the cushions in order. he said, and spread out his hands. The were in his eyes, of Spain,’ he added, ‘would that had been Queen—and world poorer.’ A moment Concha came into the room dragging on his cassock. ‘My child, we are in God’s hand,’ he with a his gruff And came heavy step of sorrow. Conyngham laid his burden on Vincente was holding his handkerchief to his side, his eyes, had a thoughtful look, saw only face. ‘I have sent for a doctor,’ said ‘Your father is wounded.’ ‘Yes,’ said Vincente immediately; ‘but I am in no pain, my There is no reason, for us to ourselves.’ looked and ‘And this Conyngham,’ he added, ‘carried me like a child.’ Julia was on knees at the foot of the sofa, her face hidden hands. dear Julia,’ he ‘why this distress?’ ‘Because of is my doing,’ she her and no!’ Vincente, a characteristic pleasantry. ‘You too much upon yourself. All things are written down add the punctuation—delaying a little or hurrying a They looked at him silently, and assuredly could
 a burden.  Estella
looked down iN a sort of drEam, anD saW heR lOver CarrYing her father
tOWardS the house, her mind only haLf comPrEHendINg, In thaT
semi-drEAmLIKe rEcEpTioN oF SuDden cAlaMity whiCh is one of HEavEn’S
deepest mercIEs.

it was ConcePçiOn who came intO thE room fIrSt, hIS whitE shIrt dyEd with
BLood in Great patcHeS Like thE Colour oN A PiEbalD horse.  A cut in his
chEEk WAs slowly drippiNg.  He weNt STrAIGht To a Sofa covereD iN
gorgEOus yellOW sATIN, anD Set the cushionS in order.

‘SeñORitA,’ he saiD, aNd sPRead ouT his hAnDS.  ThE tears were iN his
Eyes, ‘Half oF Spain,’ HE added, ‘wOUld rathEr that It hAd bEen tHE
QUeEn—aNd THe wORlD is POorEr.’

A momenT lAtEr ConCha cAME INto tHe rOom dRaggiNg on his cassocK.

‘My ChilD, We aRe in GOd’s haNd,’ he SaId, witH a breaK in hiS gRuff
voice.

And theN camE the heavy SteP oF onE cArryiNG sorroW.

CoNynGham laiD his burDEn oN tHE SOfA.  General Vincente waS hOLDiNg his
hanDkerchIEf To HIs side, anD hIs eYes, wHICh had A thoUGhTful look, Saw
onlY esTeLla’s facE.

‘I Have seNt For A doCtor,’ sAId CoNynghaM.  ‘Your fatHer is WOunded.’

‘Yes,’ said VINcente immediaTElY; ‘BUt i Am in No pAin, my dear chIld.
THEre iS no rEAsOn, sURely, fOr us tO dIStREss ourselves.’

He lookeD rOund anD smilEd.

‘And this good conyngham,’ hE ADDed, ‘carriEd me LIkE A child.’

Julia was On her Knees at the FOot of the Sofa, hEr face hiDden in her
HANds.

‘My deaR JuLia,’ He sAid, ‘WHY tHis distress?’

‘BeCAUse aLl Of this iS my Doing,’ shE anSweRed, LifTiNg her drawN and
terrOr-StRiCkEn fAce.

‘No, NO!’ said VinCeNte, WiTh a CharaCTeristIc pleAsanTrY.  ‘YOU taKe too
muCH uPON youRsElF.  All TheSe ThingS are WRitTen down For us befoRehANd.
We OnLy Add the pUnctuation—delAyIng a little Or HurRying a LITtle.’

They Looked at him silently, and aSSuredly NonE coulD
 a burden.  Estella
looked  down in a  sort  of  dr ea m, a nd s aw her lover c a rryi ng her father
towardsthe h ou s e, h e rmindonly ha l fc o mpr eh en din g, in  that 
se mi-drea mlike rece pti on  of sudden c a la mity which  is  one of Heav en’ s
deep es t m e rcies .
It wa s Conc e pçionwho camein t o ther oom fir s t ,hiswhite shirt dyedw it h 
blood in grea t patc he s  l i k e t hecolour onapieba l d horse .  A c uti n his
cheek w as slowly d r ipp ing. He  we n t stra ightto a s ofa covered  ingorgeousyellow satin,a nd setthe cu shi ons  ino rd er .
‘S e ñor i ta ,’h e s aid, and  s pr ead o ut h i s h ands . Thetears  were in hiseye s, ‘ H alf  of S pain, ’ he  a dded,  ‘woul d rat he r that it had b eenthe
Queen —an dthe  w orldi s poor er. ’
A momen t later Con ch a c am e into the room dr ag g i ng  on hiscassoc k .
‘ M y child,  w e a re i n God’s  han d ,’  he said , with abr eak inhi s gruf fvoi ce. 

And then  camethe heav y ste p  of one carryi n g sorrow.

Co n yn g h am laid  hi s burden on  the sofa .  G e ne ral Vince nte w as ho l ding his
handkerchi ef  to hi s sid e, and his ey es, whichh a d  a thoug htfu l  l o ok, saw
only E stell a’s face.‘I havesentfor a do ctor,’ sa i d  Conyngh am.   ‘ You r f a t he r is wounded. ’ 
‘Ye s, ’ saidVin cente i mme dia tel y;‘b ut I am i n no pai n,  m yde archild . 
There i snore aso n, su r ely, f or us  todi st r ess  oursel v es . ’ 

He  l oo kedrou nd  andsmil e d.
‘And t his goodCon y ngha m, ’he adde d, ‘carried m elike a chi ld .’
Julia w as on he r knees at the foot oft he sofa , h er fa ce h idden inher 
hands .
‘ My dea r Juli a,’ h esai d ,  ‘why t hi s d is tress?’

‘ B e cau se al lof t his ismy doing,’ she ans w ere d, lifting he r d rawn a nd 
te r ro r -st ri c ken f ace.

‘No, no!’  said Vinc en t e,  with a ch a rac te risticpleasan try.‘You ta ke too
mu ch upon y ou rsel f .   A ll these t hings ar e written downf or  us b efo rehand .Weonlyadd th e  pu nctua tion—d el ayinga lit tl e or hur rying a little.’

Theylooked  at h imsilently,  an d  as suredly n onecould
 a_burden. _Estella
looked down in a_sort of_dream,_and saw_her_lover carrying her_father
towards the house,_her mind only half_comprehending, in that
semi-dreamlike_reception_of sudden calamity which is one of Heaven’s
deepest mercies.

It was Concepçion who came into_the_room first,_his_white_shirt dyed with
blood in great_patches like the colour on_a piebald_horse.  A cut in his
cheek was slowly_dripping._ He went_straight to a sofa covered in
gorgeous yellow satin, and_set the cushions in order.

‘Señorita,’ he_said, and spread_out_his_hands.  The tears_were in his
eyes, ‘Half of Spain,’_he added, ‘would rather that it_had been the
Queen—and the world is poorer.’

A_moment later Concha came into the_room dragging on his cassock.

‘My_child, we_are in God’s hand,’ he_said, with a_break in_his gruff
voice.

And then_came the heavy step of one_carrying sorrow.

Conyngham laid_his burden on the sofa. _General_Vincente was holding_his
handkerchief_to_his side,_and his eyes,_which_had a_thoughtful_look, saw
only Estella’s face.

‘I have sent_for_a doctor,’ said Conyngham.  ‘Your father_is wounded.’

‘Yes,’ said Vincente_immediately;_‘but I am in_no pain, my dear child.
There_is no reason, surely, for us_to distress_ourselves.’

He looked_round and smiled.

‘And this good Conyngham,’ he added, ‘carried me like_a child.’

Julia was on her knees_at the foot of_the sofa,_her_face hidden in_her
hands.

‘My_dear Julia,’_he said, ‘why this distress?’

‘Because all of_this is_my doing,’ she answered, lifting her_drawn and
terror-stricken face.

‘No, no!’_said_Vincente, with a characteristic pleasantry. _‘You take too
much upon yourself. _All these things are written_down_for_us beforehand.
We only add the_punctuation—delaying a little or hurrying a_little.’

They looked at_him silently, and assuredly none could