ather and daughter long
remained. And now, as morning waned towards noon, the storm began to
subside. Gradually and solemnly the vast thunder-clouds rolled asunder,
and the bright blue heaven beyond appeared through their fantastic
rifts. The lessening rain-drops fell light and silvery to the earth,
and breeze and sunshine were wafted at fitful intervals over the
plague-tainted atmosphere of Rome. As yet, subdued by the shadows of
the floating clouds, the dawning sunbeams glittered softly through the
windows of Numerian's chamber. They played, warm and reviving, over
his worn features, like messengers of resurrection and hope from their
native heaven. Life seemed to expand within him under their fresh and
gentle ministering. Once more he raised himself, and turned towards
his child; and now his heart throbbed with a healthful joy, and his
arms closed round her, not in the helplessness of infirmity, but in the
welcome of love.

His words, when he spoke to her, fell at first almost inarticulately
from his lips--they were mingled together in confused phrases of
tenderness, contrition, thanksgiving. All the native enthusiasm of his
disposition, all the latent love for his child, which had for years
been suppressed by his austerity, or diverted by his ambition, now at
last burst forth.

Trembling and silent in his arms, Antonina vainly endeavoured to return
his caresses and to answer his words of welcome. Now for the first
time she knew how deep was her father's affection for her; she felt how
foreign to his real nature had been his assumed severity in their
intercourse of former days; and in the quick flow of new feelings and
old recollections produced by the delighting surprise of the discovery,
she found herself speechless. She could only listen eagerly,
breathlessly, while he spoke. His words, faltering and confused though
they were, were words of endearment which she had never heard from him
before; they were words which no mother had ever pronounced beside her
infant bed, and they sank divinely consoling over her heart, as
messages of pardon from an angel's lips.

Gradually Numerian's voice grew calmer. He raised his daughter in his
arms, and bent wistfully on her face his attentive and pitying eyes.
'Returned, returned!' he murmured, while he gazed on her, 'never again
to depart! Returned, beautiful and patient, kinder and more tender
than ever! Love me and pardon me, Antonina. I sought for you in
bit