The veil was raised. Oh, that face, with all its fairness and beauty; the golden hair, the lustrous eyes! They all knew then.
"O Granny, Granny!" and Florence was kneeling at her grandmother's feet, kissing the wasted hands, her sad, pathetic voice broken with sobs. "I had to come: I couldn't stay away. I've been selfish and ungrateful, and God has punished me sorely. And, when I turned to him in my sorrow, he brought before me all my neglect, my pride, my cruelty. O Granny! can it be forgiven?"
"There's nothing to forgive, child."
She kissed the sweet, wet face. At that moment she forgot every thing save that this darling had come back.
"Yes, there is so much, so much! You don't know. For, after I was married, I might have come. Edmund was tender and noble. This is my husband, Mr. Darol."
She rose as she uttered this, and made a gesture with her outstretched hand. Mr. Darol bowed.
"This is my dear grandmother Edmund; and these are my brothers and sisters. It is so long since I have seen any of you, that you seem strangers to me."
There was a peculiar silence in the room.
"Oh!" with a low, imploring cry,—"have you no welcome for me? Have I forfeited all regard, all remembrance?"
Hal came round to her side; but she was so stately and beautiful, that he felt almost awed.