“Tell me, first, what would be the best news you could possibly hear to-day?” persisted Abel Force.
His daughter gazed into his face, while her color went and came—came and went; but she did not speak.
“Well, Odalite?” he inquired.
“Father,” she then answered, gravely, “the best news that I could hear, that any of us could hear to-day, would be that the war was ended, the country at peace, and the North and South friends again.”
“A conscientious reply, my dear. That would certainly be the best news that any of us could hear. But it is not the news that I have to tell, my love. Try again. My news is of a private nature, and concerns yourself. What would be the best news that you could hear concerning yourself?” persisted the squire.
“That I were free!”
The words came in a tone of impassioned aspiration that spoke volumes of the suffering the girl had endured under the incubus that darkened and oppressed her life.
“Then, my dear, hear it!” said the squire, earnestly.
“Odalite, you are free!”
“Father!”