The gentleman turned quickly and rose to his feet. "So this is Elizabeth!" he repeated. "My child, do you know who I am?"
"Yes!" she cried, with a sob in her voice, "you are my father, at last, at last!"
It was half an hour later, and Elizabeth was even yet unable to realize that her father was actually here, in the same room with her, touching her, stroking her hair. She had drawn a footstool to the side of his chair, and sat holding his hand in both of hers, and looking up into his face.
He seemed older than she had thought, for the photograph of him that she had was taken long ago when he was first married. His eyes were sad now, and his hair and mustache were quite gray, while his face was browned with exposure to the sun, for he had travelled widely.
"And so you are glad to see me, Elizabeth?" he said.
"GLAD? WHY, YOU ARE MY FATHER!"
"Glad? Why, you are my father!"
And the look in Elizabeth's eyes and the tone of her voice showed that these words conveyed all that could be said.