The greater part of the day she passed by her father's bedside, but
whenever she could escape from the room, she seated herself in the
chair against the wall, endeavouring to make up her mind as to the
future. But there was much more of passion than of thought within her
breast. Never, never, never would she forgive him! Never again would
she sit on his knee caressing him. Never again would she even speak to
him. Nothing would she take from his hand, or from the hands of his
friends! Nor would she ever stoop to take aught from her aunt, or
from Ziska. They had triumphed over her. She knew not how. They had
triumphed over her, but the triumph should be very bitter to them--
very bitter, if there was any touch of humanity left among them.
Later in the day there came to be something of motion in the house. Her
father was worse in health, was going fast, and the doctor was again
there. And in these moments Souchey was with her, busy in the dying
man's room; and there were gentle kind words spoken between him and
Nina--as would be natural between such persons at such a time.
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