She sat down again opposite him.
“I want to do something for you, which is hard for me,” she said. “I want to make you believe that I am trying to be a good daughter to you. I know we disagree vitally and essentially. But is that any reason why the dearness of our human relations should be diminished?”
Her voice sank, but looking at his face she could see that the momentary brightness as he asked the last question had vanished again, and he sat looking, not at her, but out of the window, without replying.
“Father,” she said, gently, “I have spoken to you.”
He shook his head, then looked at her.
“It is useless,” he said.
Then suddenly the chilling reserve and silence of the last days gave way like ice before the South wind.
“My God!” he said, speaking more to himself than to her. “What have I done? What have I done? Has this come for some dreadful fault of mine of which I am ignorant? All your life, Helen, I have tried to train and teach you in the knowledge and fear of God. As He sees me, I have done my best, according to my lights. Never once to my knowledge have I not prayed every day that His blessing should guide and illuminate every step you take. And I cannot believe—that is my difficulty—that you try to follow His will in this. It is impossible that——“
He broke off with a sudden helpless raising of his hands indescribably pathetic.
“God help us both,” he said.