'Frank and Winnie, and
little Bob Milford, and the seaweeds!' The terrible past came upon my
soul like an avalanche, and I leapt up and walked frantically towards
my own waggon. The picture, which was nothing but an idealisation of
the vignette upon the title-page of my father's book--the vignette
taken from the photograph of Winnie, my brother Frank, and one of my
fisher-boy playmates--brought back upon me--all!
Sinfi came to me.
'What is it, brother?' said she.
'Sinfi,' I cried, 'what was that saying of your mother's about
fathers and children?'
'My poor mammy's daddy, when she wur a little chavi, beat her so
cruel that she was a ailin' woman all her life, and she used to say,
"For good or for ill, you must dig deep to bury your daddy."'
I went back and resumed my seat by Wilderspin's side, while Sinfi
returned to Cyril.
Wilderspin evidently thought that I had been overcome by the
marvellous power of his description, and went on as though there had
been no interruption.
'Isis,' said he,' stands before you; Isis, not matronly and stern as
the mother of Horus, nor as the Isis of the licentious orgies; but
(as Philip Aylwin says) "Isis, the maiden, gazing around her, with
pure but mystic eyes.
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