“Why ask that, father?” she replied; “for my thought is sad—sad as all things that end. The day has gone, never more to return! It is like a precious pearl that
has been unstrung from a necklace where all are carefully numbered.”
“Thou art right, my daughter, and may be the happiness I have enjoyed this day in the midst of you will never more return!”
“What sayest thou, my father?” cried Margaret, alarmed. “Nay, wouldst thou leave us, then, and couldst thou live without thy children?”
“No, my child, no; but observe you not how the days of man are like the swift shuttle that flies to and fro in the hands of the weaver, and which he uses to trace, one after another, divers designs?”
“This one pleases me much,” said Margaret, smiling, “and I would like it to stop here.”
As she said this, she extended her hand toward Roper, who brought her a large bouquet of daisies[209] he had gathered for her in the fields.
“Here is my name written on my forehead by the hand of Roper,” she continued; and she placed the pretty white flowers amid the dark tresses of her lovely hair.
The father admired his beautiful young daughter, in whom, indeed, youth and beauty were united in all their brilliancy. Her small hands rested one upon the other; her white robe hung in graceful folds around, defining her perfectly-moulded form; her eyes, calm and serene in expression, yet shone with a thousand fires; one could read in their depths the strength and vigor of this young soul just entering upon life. Those features so calm and lovely, that union of charms and perfections, brought joy and happiness to the depths of the devoted father’s soul. He gazed at her in silence.
“A ray of eternal beauty lights up this beautiful countenance,” he said to himself. “This flower is born of my blood; it is being of my being, soul of my soul. Oh! blessed, blessed for ever be this child whom the Lord hath given to me! Margaret, my daughter,” he said after a moment’s silence, “tell me, I pray you, what is beauty?”