"You are sad, Eveline; you are not happy, I know you are not; and yet you do not confide your sorrow to me. Is this kind, my dear?"
"Oh, father!" and she burst into tears. He drew her head upon his bosom, and for a short period permitted sorrow to have its way, then inquired:
"May I share my daughter's grief?"
"Father, father, do not wound my heart afresh! I fear me now it will never heal!"
"Eveline, child, you misunderstand me. God forbid that I should add to your sorrow; my only desire is to relieve and heal!"
"May I indeed trust in my father? Oh, what a question to ask myself! Yet—"
"Yet what? Speak fully, and let us for once open our hearts to each other without reserve."
"Yet I fear I have had cause to make the inquiry."
"I fear so too, my dear; but let us now understand each other. I hope much from such an understanding."
"What would you draw from me?"