There was a pause. Then, solemnly
gliding across the lighted room, the phantom stole to her side with
a glory of compassion on its wasted features. Tenderly, as a son to
a mother, it bent over her; its spectral hands of light rested upon
her in caressing and benediction; its shadowy fall of hair, once
blanched by the anguish of living and loving, floated on her throbbing
brow; and resignation and comfort not of this world sank upon her spirit,
and consciousness grew dim within her, and care and sorrow seemed to
die.
He who had been so cruel and so hard, sat silent in black gloom. The
stern and sullen mood, from which had dropped but one fierce flash of
anger, still hung above the heat of his mind, like a dark rack of
thundercloud. It would have burst anew into a fury of rebuke, had he
but known his daughter was listening at the door, while the colloquy
went on. It might have flamed violently, had his tenant made any further
attempt to change his purpose. She had not. She had left the room meekly,
with the same curt, awkward bow that marked her entrance.
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