One morning George Benson had gone out when the doctor arrived, and the good man ran up the stairs and looked into the old man’s chamber without being announced.
There were tears upon the wrinkled face.
“Why, Mr. Benson, are you in such pain?” said the doctor in great sympathy.
“No.”
“Then what are you weeping for? Tell me; maybe I can help you.”
“No one can do that, Johnson,” replied the millionaire; “I am weeping for my daughter.”
“Your daughter? I did not know that you had one.”
“Oh, yes I have, but I do not know where. She was a good little girl, but married against my will, and for a time I returned all of her letters, and she has since then refused to forgive me.”
“Well, well; this is interesting. Tell me all about it.”
It eased the poor, throbbing heart to tell the painful story.