"Ah! with how much reason?" cried the blind girl, with such fervency that Caleb, though his motives were pure, could not endure to meet her face, but dropped his eyes, as if she could have read in them his innocent deceit.
"Then tell me again about him, dear father," said Bertha. "Many times again! His face is good, kind, and tender. Honest and true, I am sure it is. The manly heart that tries to cloak all favors with a show of roughness and unwillingness beats in its every look and glance."
"And makes it noble," added Caleb in his quiet desperation.
"And makes it noble!" cried the blind girl. "He is older than May, father?"
"Ye-es," said Caleb, reluctantly. "He's a little older than May, but that don't signify."
"Bertha," said Caleb softly, "what has happened? How changed you are, my darling, in a few hours—since this morning. You silent and dull all day! What is it? Tell me!"
"Oh father, father!" cried the blind girl, bursting into tears. "Oh, my hard, hard fate!"
Caleb drew his hand across his eyes before he answered her.
"But think how cheerful and how happy you have been, Bertha! How good, and how much loved, by many people."
"That strikes me to the heart, dear father! Always so mindful of me! Always so kind to me!"