Of his present position he never spoke, unless when questioned by Rachel, and when he did so, it was to say that "Saunders and his wife were very kind to him, very kind. And I am quite happy, Miss Gray," he would add, "quite happy."
And thus like a hidden stream flowed on the life of Rachel Gray, silent, peaceful and very still. It slept in the shadow of the old grey street, in the quiet shelter of a quiet home, within the narrow circle of plain duties. Prayer, Love, Meditation and Thought graced it daily. It was humble and lowly in the eyes of man; beautiful and lovely in the sight of God.
And thus quiet and happy years had passed away, and nothing had arrested their monotonous flow.
It was evening, Rachel and her father were alone in the little parlour. Thomas Gray was still a childish old man, bereft of knowledge and of sense. Yet now, as Rachel helped him to his chair, and settled him in it, something, a sort of light seemed to her to pass athwart the old man's face, and linger in his dull eyes.
"Father!" she cried, "do you know me?"
In speech he answered not, but it seemed to her that in his look she read conscious kindness. She pressed his hand, and it appeared to press hers in return; she laid her cheek to his, and it did not seem lifeless or cold. Then, again she withdrew from him and said:
"Father, do you know me?"
He looked at her searchingly and was long silent: at length he spoke, and in a low but distinct voice, said: "Rachel."
In a transport of joy, Rachel sank at his feet and sobbing clasped her arms around him.
"Never mind, Rachel," he said, "never mind."