Hiram regarded the attenuated form and pale, thin face of his daughter, and I hope I am right in saying that he felt a touch of pity when he reflected on her distressed situation, shut out from the world, and slowly wasting away.
At any rate, he returned her greeting with more than ordinary kindness, and seated himself by the side of the couch where she was reclining.
[Had you the power to look into the heart, even as the Omniscient regards it, which, think you, would most challenge your pity, Hiram or his daughter?]
'I fear you are lonely, Harriet, so much of the day by yourself.'
'Not very lonely, papa. You know I have a good many visits, and Margaret (the nurse) is invaluable. She reads to me whenever I desire; and she is so cheerful always, that—'
'Has your Uncle Frank been here to-day?' interrupted Hiram.
'No, papa, but he is coming in to-morrow.'
'What time, think you?'
'Uncle generally comes about six o'clock. He says he reserves his last visit before dinner for me.'
'Ask him to dine with us. Tell him I want to see him particularly.'