"And into the fire. What do you see?"
"Felix."
"Ah, child!" he said, touching her eyelids gently; "Felix is not on the road, nor in the room; he is here."
"No," she replied in the tenderest of tones, taking his hand, and placing it on her heart; "he is here."
She was on her knees before the fire, looking into it, and remained so for many minutes, the old man standing quietly by her side, with his hand on her shoulder, looking down upon her. "A happier fate awaits her, thank God!" he thought, "than fell to her mother's lot."
He sat down in his chair at the thought, and mused on the time gone by, and thought of Lily's father too, and wondered as to his fate.
"Strange," he mused, "that one so unstable as he should have been so faithful to his written promise. Strange that I have never heard of him since that dreadful time! If he is living now, would it not be a good thing that he should witness his daughter's happiness? But if the old vice is in him still!—No, it would be impossible to find him, and it is better as it is. This is a happy turning-tide for all of us."
Nine o'clock struck. Lily started up.
"I wish Alfred was home," she said impatiently. "I do so want him to know!"
"Perhaps he's at Lizzie's," said the old man. "Shall I run round and see?"