“Look in my face, father, and surely you’ll remember me.”
“My daughter is dead and buried. She died a long, long time ago.” The old gentleman’s voice changed from anger to sorrow. “You can go,” he concluded.
“Stop, dear father, till you look at this ring on my finger. Look at your name and mine engraved on it.”
“It certainly is my daughter’s ring, but I do not know how you came by it. I fear in no honest way.”
“Call my mother—she will be sure to know me,” said the poor girl, who by this time was weeping bitterly.
“My poor wife is beginning to forget her sorrow. She seldom speaks of her daughter now. Why should I renew her grief by reminding her of her loss?”
But the young lady persevered till at last the mother was sent for.
“Mother,” she began, when the old lady came to the door, “don’t you know your daughter?”
“I have no daughter. My daughter died, and was buried a long, long time ago.”
“Only look in my face and surely you’ll know me.”