“So, after a while, I came to think of this life as but a short one at best, and to look forward to the one in which we could be together forever. At these times, he spoke of my mother, and I began to know more of her, and to understand better his joy at the prospect of seeing her again. By the time the winter had worn away and spring had come, when I was counting the days, one by one, which we had together, I had learned, at last, to bear in patience, and did not grieve him by violent outbreaks of sorrow.
“In May, he was to go to Italy. It was not likely I should ever see him again, though if I had allowed myself to feel that fully, I could not have borne it all as I did. He thought it best for me to remain in America; indeed, it was impossible for me to go with him—though I poured out my heart in entreaties to be allowed to do so. I am always sorry when I think of my undisciplined spirit—my unwillingness to submit at this time; it added to papa’s grief, and he wore himself out in trying to show me the good in it all, which seemed so hard for me to see.
“Dr. Lee had told him that to go abroad was the sole chance of adding to his days, and he thought it his duty to cherish the boon of life as long as possible; or else, I believe nothing would have induced him to leave me. I was to stay with aunt Marion Bell, my mamma’s sister, whom I had never seen; but the prospect of cousins for companions, and a pony to ride—of a free, fresh country life did not rouse me in the least from my sadness.
“At last it was all over, and he was gone. He had kissed me again and again, had bidden ‘God bless me!’ and torn himself away. It was very dreadful.”
Miss Lane paused, while each of her little hearers remembered the parting of a year ago, when their dear mother went away.
“But all the time,” she then resumed, “I kept in my mind these last words of my father: ‘Be patient, my child, be patient always;’ and that helped the time to pass away.
“At first, I used to wake with the heavy weight of sorrow upon me, morning after morning, and sit apart, pale and sad, with the tears starting at the slightest word—and was no doubt an object of wonder to my merry, boisterous cousins, who looked on me from wide open eyes, with wondering glances, scarcely ever approaching me or speaking to me.
“But by and by, I began to look out of my corner with some interest upon this new scene, though as yet I was not an actor in it—and I had made up my mind not to live, only to wait till papa returned—thinking all those around me, with their ways so different from his, unworthy of much notice; and as for affection, it had never even occurred to me that there was enough room in my heart for any body but my idol.
“There was my grandmother, an old lady, with the daintiest of caps, and hair as shining white as silver. She always wore a black dress, with the whitest of inside handkerchiefs fastened by a beautiful old-fashioned pin of seed pearls, and on her finger glittered a diamond ring that dazzled my eyes. Those white unwrinkled hands used to be busied with most delicate work, or with her Bible and Prayer-Book, which lay always on a table by her side.
“I stayed by her side mostly, and she lavished tender words and caresses upon me: these made me sad, because they reminded me of papa; but I was attracted by something in her face that made me think of mamma’s picture, and so I studied her features with eager, wondering eyes. One day, while I had been watching her intently, I suddenly exclaimed: