She was breathless—no voice was to be heard: “They are not coming,” said she, turning as pale as death. An instant afterwards her colour returned—she heard the steps of two people coming up the stairs.
“His step!—Do you hear it?—Is it my father?”
Virginia’s imagination was worked to the highest pitch; she could scarcely sustain herself: Mrs. Ormond supported her. At this instant her father appeared.
“My child!—the image of her mother!” exclaimed he, stopping short: he sunk upon a chair.
“My father!” cried Virginia, springing forward, and throwing herself at his feet.
“The voice of her mother!” said Mr. Hartley. “My daughter!—My long lost child!”
He tried to raise her, but could not; her arms were clasped round his knee, her face rested upon it, and when he stooped to kiss her cheek, he found it cold—she had fainted.
When she came to her senses, and found herself in her father’s arms, she could scarcely believe that it was not a dream.
“Your blessing!—give me your blessing, and then I shall know that you are indeed my father!” cried Virginia, kneeling to him, and looking up with an enthusiastic expression of filial piety in her countenance.
“God bless you, my sweet child!” said he, laying his hand upon her; “and God forgive your father!”