"My darling, my one thought is for your happiness." There is evasion mixed with the affection in this speech; and Clarissa notices it.
"No: say you are glad I am going to marry him," she says, remorselessly.
"How can you expect me to say that," exclaims he, mournfully, "when you know your wedding-day must part us?"
"Indeed it never shall!" cries she, vehemently; and then, overcome by the emotion of the past hour, and indeed of the whole day, she gives way and bursts into tears. "Papa, how can you say that? To be parted from you! We must be the same to each other always: my wedding-day would be a miserable one indeed if it separated me from you."
Then he comforts her, fondly caressing the pretty brown head that lies upon his heart, as it had lain in past years, when the slender girl of to-day was a little lisping motherless child. He calls her by all the endearing names he had used to her then, until her sobs cease, and only a sigh, now and again, tells of the storm just past.
"When is it to be?" he asks her, after a little while. "Not too soon, my pet, I hope?"
"Not for a whole year. He said something about November, but I could not leave you in such a hurry. We must have one more Christmas all to ourselves."
"You thought of that," he says, tenderly. "Oh, Clarissa, I hope this thing is for your good. Think of it seriously, earnestly, while you have time. Do not rush blindly into a compact that must be binding on you all your life."
"I hope it will be for all my life," returns she, gravely. "To be parted from Horace would be the worst thing that could befall me. Always remember that, papa. I am bound to him with all my heart and soul."
"So be it!" says George Peyton, solemnly. A sigh escapes him.