He looked like an old picture, but he was a gentleman every inch of him.—Page 390.
Of course, he might have written her a few words.
"And that wonderful old lady of yours is dead! Wouldn't it have been queer if you had started for Europe? Oh, here we are!" and he opened the gate.
Helen walked straight up the path, and the man pacing the porch paused at the steps. He was tall and thin, with a bend in the shoulders, and his clothes hung loosely on him. His face had a sort of shrunken look and was much wrinkled, his beard was sparse and snowy white, and his white hair was rather long with curling ends. He looked like an old picture, but he was a gentleman every inch of him.
"Oh!" Helen exclaimed with a gasp.
He took both hands, looked her over from head to foot, then touched his lips to her forehead.
"You're not a bit like your mother," and Helen detected a sense of relief in his tone.
Could he remember all these years? Almost a sob came up in her throat. Yes, girl life had ended. "I am glad and thankful that I have you to recall, happy, happy schooldays," she said to herself. "No one can take that from me. Oh, Mrs. Van Dorn! I hope you know what all this has been to me, what it will be in the years to come."
They were parent and child, but they had to begin life over, a new life to her. His way was settled. Would hers have to yield?