There was an instant's pause, as though the fashionable lady would offer her hand; but their eyes met, and they only bowed. The lady moved on with a smile, leaving a perfume of heliotrope behind her.
"Where is your country, I wonder?"—the voice of the lady rang in Rosalie's ears. As she sat at the window again, long after the visitors had disappeared, the words, "I wonder—I wonder—I wonder!" kept beating in her brain. It was absurd that this woman should remind her of the tailor of Chaudiere.
Suddenly she was roused by her father's voice. "This is beautiful—ah, but beautiful, Rosalie!"
She turned towards him. He was reading the book in his hand—'Beyond the Hills'. "Listen," he said, and he read, in English: "'Compensation is the other name for God. How often is it that those whom disease or accident has robbed of active life find greater inner rejoicing and a larger spiritual itinerary! It would seem that withdrawal from the ruder activities gives a clearer seeing. Also for these, so often, is granted a greater love, which comes of the consecration of other lives to theirs. And these too have their reward, for they are less encompassed by the vanities of the world, having the joy of self-sacrifice.'" He looked at Rosalie with an unnatural brightness in his eyes, and she smiled at him now and stroked his hand.
"It has been all compensation to me," he said, after a moment. "You have been a good daughter to me, Rosalie."
She shook her head and smiled. "Good fathers think they have good daughters," she answered, choking back a sob.
He closed the book and let it lie upon the coverlet. "I will sleep now," he said, and turned on his side. She arranged his pillow, and adjusted the bedclothes to his comfort.
"Good-night," he said, as, with a faint hand, he drew her head down and kissed her. "Good girl! Goodnight!"
She patted his hand. "It is not night yet, father."
He was already half asleep. "Good-night!" he said again, and fell into a deep sleep.