"You gave Sophie our mother's marriage-ring," I said, "and I"—
"Shall wear this," said my father. "I laid it here, with hers;" and he gently lifted the sacred hair, and, freeing the ring, put it upon my finger.
"This is not my marriage-day," I said. "Papa, I don't want it. Besides, gentlemen don't wear marriage-rings: how came you to?"
"Perhaps I have not worn this one; but will you wear it to please me?"
"Why will it please you? It is not symbolical, is it?"
"It makes you doubly mine," he said; and he led me back to outside life, with this strange sort of marriage-ring circling with its planet weight around my finger.
Did my father mean to keep me forever? And with the question came an answer that left sweet contentment in its pathway; it accorded with the intent of my heart.
"Father, have you made me your friend?" I asked, in the room that was terribly tossed, as I restored to place chairs that seemed to have been in a deplorably long dance, and to have forgotten their home at its close.
"You wear my ring, you have come into my orbit," he answered.
"That being true, I am as much interested in the flying comet in there as you are,—for if it strikes you, it hurts me;" and I waited his answer.