"I am _so_ glad to see you, Clarence," says Nelly, recovering herself;
there is a sweet, sad smile now And sitting there beside you, she tells
you of it all,--of the day, and of the hour,--and how she looked,--and
of her last prayer, and how happy she was.
"And did she leave no message for me, Nelly?"
"Not to forget us, Clarence; but you could not!"
"Thank you, Nelly. And was there nothing else?"
"Yes, Clarence,--to meet her one day!"
You only press her hand.
Presently your father comes in: he greets you with far more than his
usual cordiality. He keeps your hand a long time, looking quietly in
your face, as if he were reading traces of some resemblance that had
never struck him before.
The father is one of those calm, impassive men, who shows little upon
the surface, and whose feelings you have always thought cold. But now
there is a tremulousness in his tones that you never remember observing
before. He seems conscious of it himself, and forbears talking. He goes
to his old seat, and after gazing at you a little while with the same
steadfastness as at first, leans forward, and buries his face in his
hands.
From that very moment you feel a sympathy and a love for him, that you
have never known until then.
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