The winter term had just commenced, when Priscilla entered her father's study early one morning, anxious to hear the contents of a letter from Austin which her father had just received.
She started as she entered at finding her father sitting with bowed head and the half-opened letter in his hand.
"O father," she said, in an alarmed tone, "what is wrong? Is Austin ill? Oh speak, do speak; tell me what it is!"
He laid his hand tenderly on her shoulder, and said, "No, my daughter, there is nothing amiss with Austin. But—" and, strong man as he was, a tear fell on the letter he held—"Priscilla, it is best you should know it. I can no longer read his letter. God has stricken me sorely. I am blind—I fear hopelessly blind."
"O father, poor father!" said the girl, as she threw her arms caressingly round him, "Is it possible? Why, oh why have you concealed this from me? Blind! But do not say hopelessly so. You have seen no oculist yet; it may be only—"
But her father stopped her.
"Nay, Priscilla, I have seen an oculist; M'Ivor went with me to one and heard his opinion. He told me I would soon be entirely blind, and now I am almost so. It has come sooner than even he expected it would. It is hard to bear. My last work on mathematics was almost finished; and now, without the help of some one who fully understands the subject and can carry out my ideas, it must be given up. Austin has not the time to do so; and Lewis, poor Lewis, is perhaps no more. But God's will be done!"
At these words Priscilla rose. Her timidity, her fear of her father's prejudices all vanished. With one short cry for help to her Father in heaven, she spoke out boldly.
"Father," she said, "the time has come when you must listen to me. The mathematical talent God gave to you I have inherited. I could not stifle it, though, knowing your dislike to women pursuing such studies, I have latterly tried to do so, but failed; and almost unaided, I have continued the study, till now I know, father, I can help you in any work of the kind you wish to carry on. It was my passion for this study, my sinful, selfish ambition to prove to you and the world what a woman could do, that led me soon after my mother's death to neglect other and more important duties. Ay, and with deep sorrow I confess it, it was my being so absorbed in the study of mathematics that made home so cheerless for my brother, and brought such bitter sorrow on us all."
Dr. Warner started, but said not a word for some minutes; then pushing a slate and pencil which lay near into Priscilla's hand, he said, "Let me try you."