Virginia! You are happy when I'm kind!
That's strange; and makes me think you have some reason
To fear I may be otherwise than kind."
The parental tenderness of his manner, his speech, his kiss, seemed to combine the love of a father and a mother in one. His hand meanwhile was playing with her tresses in a way suggestive of unpurposed instinctive fondness, exquisitely touching.
The transition was perfect when, meeting Icilius, after scrutinizing him earnestly, as though to read his very soul, the rough soldier and honest man succeeds to the adoring father:
"Icilius!
Thou seest this hand? It is a Roman's, boy;
'Tis sworn to liberty,—it is the friend,
Of honor. Dost thou think so?
Icilius. Do I think