waiting till her father should
come. The morning, though it was in August, was chill, and the time
seemed to be very long. She had managed to look at the old clock as
she passed, and had seen that it wanted a quarter to five. She knew
that her father was never later than five. What, if on this special
morning he should not come, just because she had resolved, after many
inward struggles, to make one great effort to obtain his pardon.

At last he was coming. She heard his step in the passage, and then
she was aware that he had stopped when he found the fastenings of
the door unloosed. She perceived too that he delayed to examine the
lock,--as it was natural that he should do; and she had forgotten
that he would be arrested by the open door. Thinking of this in the
moment of time that was allowed to her, she hurried forward and
encountered him.

"Father," she said; "it is I."

He was angry that she should have dared to unbolt the door, or to
withdraw the bars. What was she, that she should be trusted to open
or to close the house? And there came upon him some idea of wanton
and improper conduct. Why was she there at that hour? Must it be that
he should put her again from the shelter of his roof?

Carry was clever enough to perceive in a moment what was passing in
the old man's mind. "Father," she said, "it was to see you. And I
thought,--perhaps,--I might say it out here." He believed her at
once. In whatever spirit he might accept her present effort, that
other idea had already vanished. She was there that they two might be
alone together in the fresh morning air, and he knew that it was so.
"Father," she said, looking up into his face. Then she fell on the
ground at his feet, and embraced his knees, and lay there sobbing.
She had intended to ask him for forgiveness, but she was not able to
say a word. Nor did he speak for awhile; but he stooped and raised
her up tenderly; and then, when she was again standing by him, he
stepped on as though he were going to the mill without a word. But he
had not rebuked her, and his touch had been very gentle. "Father,"
she said, following him, "if you could forgive me! I know I have been
bad, but if you could forgive me!"

He went to the very door of the mill before he turned; and she, when
she saw that he did not come back to her, paused upon the bridge. She
had used all her eloquence. She knew no other words with which to
move him. She felt that she had failed, but she could