‘Father,’ she said, and then she ran to him, stumbling over her dress, and put her hands on his shoulders.
That grim mouth, which she had always thought so forbidding and unsympathetic, suddenly wore to her a perfectly new aspect: it was strong and tender.
‘My dear,’ he said, ‘I am so glad you have let me come to you. You are in deep waters, poor girl.’
‘I loved him,’ she said.
‘I know you did. That’s why you’re right to come to me. I can understand. I can’t do anything for you except understand. I’ve loved too: I’ve lost too. I know what it’s like.’
‘I felt you did: I don’t know why,’ she said.
‘Well, you felt right. We’re together, my dear.’
Since she had heard the news, she had sat dry-eyed and motionless in her bedroom. Now in the sense of a companionship that comprehended, the relief of tears came, and with head buried on his shoulder, she clung to him while the storm raged. He just let her feel the pressure of his arm, and for the rest stood there braced and firm in body and steadfast soul. There was none who could help him, but comfortless himself he could comfort, and he waited with that live and infinite patience which is the gift only of the strong and masterful.
‘There, my dear,’ he said at length, ‘you have cried enough, and you’re better for it. Now you’re going to be very good and dry your eyes, and sit down again by the fire, while I fetch you something to eat. You’ve had nothing.’
‘I couldn’t eat,’ she said.