As he opened the door he paused and looked back at them. The smile passed from his face, and an ineffable expression of longing—longing and tenderness—came upon it.
Then he was gone.
For a space, while his spell was upon them, they did not stir. Then Stephen sought her eyes that had been so long denied him. They were not denied him now. It was Virginia who first found her voice, and she called him by his name.
"Oh, Stephen," she said, "how sad he looked!"
He was close to her, at her side. And he answered her in the earnest tone which she knew so well.
"Virginia, if I could have had what I most wished for in the world, I should have asked that you should know Abraham Lincoln."
Then she dropped her eyes, and her breath came quickly.
"I—I might have known," she answered, "I might have known what he was. I had heard you talk of him. I had seen him in you, and I did not know. Do you remember that day when we were in the summer-house together at Glencoe, long ago? When you had come back from seeing him?"
"As yesterday," he said.
"You were changed then," she said bravely. "I saw it. Now I understand.
It was because you had seen Mr. Lincoln."