But she was sure that the embrace and kiss which followed were very exclusively for her. They made her face almost as sober as his own.
"There will be a blessing for you," said he,--"if there is a blessing anywhere!"
"If, uncle Rolf?" said Fleda, her heart swelling to her eyes.
He turned away without answering her.
Fleda sat down in the easy chair then and cried. But that lasted very few minutes; she soon left crying for herself to pray for him, that he might have the blessing he did not know. That did not stop tears. She remembered the poor man sick of the palsy who was brought in by friends to be healed, and that "Jesus seeing their faith, said unto the sick of the palsy, 'Son, thy sins be forgiven thee.'" It was a handle that faith took hold of and held fast while love made its petition. It was all she could do, she thought; she never could venture to speak to her uncle on the subject.
Weary and tired, tears and longing at length lost themselves in sleep. When she awaked she found the daylight broadly come, little King in her lap, the fire, instead of being burnt out, in perfect preservation, and Barby standing before it and looking at her.
"You ha'n't got one speck o' good by this journey to New York," was Miss Elster's vexed salutation.
"Do you think so?" said Fleda rousing herself. "I wouldn't venture to say as much as that, Barby."
"If you have, 'tain't in your cheeks," said Barby decidedly. "You look just as if you was made of anything that wouldn't stand wear, and that isn't the way you used to look."
"I have been up a good while without breakfast--my cheeks will be a better colour when I have had that, Barby--they feel pale."