of it refers to past things; but I should be glad if you could think as kindly as you can of poor papa—and so—if you will read it”
He took it and read it, not without emotion. Then he laid it down on his table, and said,
“Poor man! he must have suffered a great deal for that night’s work. And you, Ellinor, you have suffered, too.”
Yes, she had suffered; and he who spoke had been one of the instruments of her suffering, although he seemed forgetful of it. She shook her head a little for reply. Then she looked up at him—they were both standing at the time—and said:
“I think I shall be happier now. I always knew it must be found out. Once more, good-by, and thank you. I may take this letter, I suppose?” said she, casting envious loving eyes at her father’s note, lying unregarded on the table.
“Oh! certainly, certainly,” said he; and then he took her hand; he held it, while he looked into her face. He had thought it changed when he had first seen her, but it was now almost the same to him as of yore. The sweet shy eyes, the indicated dimple in the cheek, and something of fever had brought a faint pink flush into her usually colourless cheeks. Married judge though he was, he was not sure if she had not more charms for him still in her
