“Ay, that’s right; and dolly shall have a slice of cake all to herself. Here she is!” he exclaimed, seeing Mrs. Parrot peeping in at the door. “Will you take her hat and this little cape?”
“How do you do, dear?” said Mrs. Parrot, giving the child a kiss.
“Look at my frock!” exclaimed Nelly, holding up her dress, which had a little embroidery work upon it, and which bore marks of much patient mending and darning.
“Beautiful! beautiful!” cried Mrs. Parrot. “I’ve set the kettle on to bile, sir, and tea’ll be ready whiniver you’re pleased to want it.”
So saying, she dropped a courtesy, being greatly impressed by Mr. Hampden’s undoubted wealth, illustrated by his prodigal purchases, and withdrew.
Father and child! A lonely man, gentle, honourable, faithful, as any whom God in His wisdom has chosen to afflict, opening his heart to receive and fold up the sweetness and innocence of his own little baby!
Ah! I think even Mrs. Parrot might have guessed the strange mystery of this man’s desire for the child, had she but watched him from some secret hiding-place when the door had closed upon her.
He surrendered himself to his emotion when he felt himself alone with the little girl, and for many moments could not speak to her, could do no more than look at her, searching her fairy lineaments with something almost of a woman’s ecstasy, reading his brief history of hopeful, beautiful love in her fresh deep eyes, and drinking in greedily the memories of the days that were no more, which thronged from the face that mirrored his as it was when Dolly knew him, as the dew-drop mirrors the sun.
But he was recalled to himself by the gathering expression of fear in Nelly. Indeed, there was something alarming enough to her in the concentrated passion, all soft and holy as it was, that shone in his fixed regard.
Such abandonment to feeling would not do, if the part he was to play was to be complete.