Sidney had become absent in his manner—Mr. Gray, who had become voluble, discoursed at great length on his peculiar principle of doing good, but Sidney heard but little of his argument, and was engrossed by thoughts of the change coming unto him again, and to which he could not offer opposition. Discoursing thus, and thinking thus, when Mattie returned, and stood in the doorway, looking from father to friend.
"Father," she ejaculated at last.
"Don't say that you are sorry to see me, after this long parting!" he exclaimed, as he rose in an excited manner, and went towards her with both hands outstretched.
"Not sorry—no—but very, very glad!"
She held his hands, and leaned forward to kiss him. He caught her to his heart then, and the tears welled into his eyes at this evidence of the past parting having been forgotten and forgiven.
"Mattie," he said, "I have been thinking of all this again—over and over again, patiently, and not in anger—and I still think that it is wrong to stay here."
"And he—what does he think?" looking towards Sidney.
Sidney answered for himself.
"That, perhaps, we are both too young—blind though I am, and pure as you are, Mattie—to keep house together after this fashion. For your sake, I will ask you to go back with your father. I have been wrong and selfish."
"I said that I would go when you wished it, Mr. Sidney."