“You have been her friends, I can see that. God bless you for it!”
“Yes,” answered the old woman, gently, “we are her friends and your grandparents.”
“My grandparents! I do not know what all this means; but God bless you both for everything you are and have done. Catharine shall tell me all about it. I want to hear her voice. Look up, darling, and tell me if I belong to this dear old lady and gentleman.”
Catharine struggled a little in his arms and lifted her face from his bosom; it had fallen there, pale as a lily, but now the flush of summer roses glowed upon it from neck to forehead. Happiness had made her radiant.
“Not now,” said the old man; “let us take nothing from her happiness. To-morrow our grandson will come to us, but now he belongs to her.”
And so the old couple went quietly home together, thanking God all the way.
One by one the persons who had witnessed the reunion of that husband and wife glided from the room; and for a few precious minutes they were alone together. But scarcely a word was said. They looked in each other’s faces, smiling, and yet with a shy sort of reserve, wondering at themselves that, having so much to say, sweet silence seemed pleasanter than words.
“Yes, darling, you have changed, but only to become more lovely,” he said in answer to the fond question in her eyes. “And I—you would not have known me, I am certain.”
“I had but to hear your voice, the tears blinded me so—now that I can see you, it is the same face, older, braver.”
“But brother Louis is more like what I was. No wonder you took him for me.”