Her whole countenance changed. She took it down, and her eyes filled with tears.
"It was my father's," she said, tenderly.
"Your father's!" I exclaimed, joyfully. "Heaven be thanked! Did you say your father's?"
She looked up surprised, then smiled, and faintly blushed.
"I did," she replied.
"And was your father a soldier?" I asked; for the sword looked more like a sword of ceremony than a sword for service.
But to this question she gave no direct reply.
"It was his sword," she said, "and he had the best of all rights to wear it."
With this she kissed the weapon reverently, and restored it to its place.
I kissed her hand quite as reverently that day at parting, and she did not withdraw it.