Paula bowed her head, amazed at the gloomy tone in which this emphatic assertion was made by one whose supposed ignorance she had been endeavoring to enlighten. “You knew her history before, then,” observed she, “I beg your pardon.”
“And it is granted,” said he with a sudden throwing off of the shadow that had enveloped him. “You must not mind my sudden lapses into gloom. I was never a cheerful man, that is, not since I—since my early youth I should say. And the shadows which are short at your time of life grow long and chilly at mine. One thing can illumine them though, and that is a child’s happy smile. You are a child to me; do not deny me a smile, then, before I go.”
“Not one nor a dozen,” cried she, giving him her hands in good-bye for they had arrived at the depot by this time and the sound of the approaching train was heard in the distance.
“God bless you!” said he, clasping those hands with a father’s heartfelt tenderness. “God bless my little Paula and make her pillow soft till we meet again!” Then as the train came sweeping up the track, put on his brightest look and added, “If the fairy-godmother chances to visit you during my departure, don’t hesitate to obey her commands, if you want to hear the famous organ peal.”
“No, no,” she cried. And with a final look and smile he stepped upon the train and in another moment was whirled away from that place of many memories and a solitary hope.
XI.
MISS STUYVESANT.
“She smiled; but he could see arise
Her soul from far adown her eyes.”—Mrs. Browning.