And with a second shock, and full
knowledge that had somehow eluded her, she realized that this him,
this monster her mother wished to destroy, using her as a vehicle, was
the first, the original Lord Purceville. Her father, who formed half
her living flesh.
And as much as she knew him for the man he was, as much as she
sympathized with her mother and abhorred his rape of her, yet again
she felt that sudden and all-inclusive pang: the orphan, who after
years in the lonely dark, discovers a natural parent, living still.
But now the old woman was speaking again, had in fact been speaking
all the while these thoughts raced through her, no longer aware, it
seemed, of any presence save her own, blindly reciting the words that
had become to her a litany of hate.
".....was just an officer then, in command of the Northern Garrison.
We were not yet in open rebellion, and after a fashion, were content
to be subjects of the British crown. But we were never equals. The
Purcevilles, outsiders that they were, still secured for themselves a
beautiful estate, with a magnificent home and many servants.
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