For some time he watched her emotion with a bitter smile and a shake of the head; but at last he said: “Ethel, you do not live among men; why do you weep?”
He had scarcely finished these words, when the sweet and noble girl rose. By a great effort she checked her tears, and dried her eyes with her scarf, saying: “Father, forgive me; it was a momentary weakness.” And she looked at him with an attempt to smile.
She went to the back of the room, found the Edda, seated herself by her taciturn father, and opened the book at random; then, mastering her voice, she began to read. But her useless task was unheeded by her and by the old man, who waved his hand.
“Enough, enough, my daughter!”
She closed her book.
“Ethel,” added Schumacker, “do you ever think of Ordener?”
The young girl started in confusion.
“Yes,” he continued, “of that Ordener who went—”
“Father,” interrupted Ethel, “why should we trouble ourselves about him? I think as you do,—that he left us, never to return.”
“Never to return, my daughter! I cannot have said such a thing. On the contrary, I have a strange presentiment that he will come back.”