The voice ceased, the story was told, and the teller gone. The curtain over the past was never lifted again; but often, in after years, Waring thought of this strange life and its stranger philosophy. He could never judge them. Can we?
The next day the talk turned upon Silver. 'I know you love her,' said the old man, 'but how much?'
'Does it need the asking?' answered Waring with a short laugh; 'am I not giving up my name, my life, into her hands?'
'You could not give them into hands more pure.'
'I know it; I am content. And yet, I sacrifice something,' replied the young man, thinking of his home, his family, his friends.
Old Fog looked at him. 'Do you hesitate?' he said, breaking the pause.
'Of course I do not; why do you ask?' replied Waring, irritably. 'But some things may be pardoned, I think, in a case like mine.'
'I pardon them.'
'I can teach her, of course, and a year or so among cultivated people will work wonders; I think I shall take her abroad, first. How soon did you say we could go?'
'The ice is moving. There will be vessels through the straits in two or three weeks,' replied Fog. His voice shook. Waring looked up; the old man was weeping. 'Forgive me,' he said brokenly, 'but the little girl is very dear to me.'