her, after a long and unbroken silence; "and you cannot
think what a hold it has taken of my waking thoughts. I fancied that I
was sitting in the little parlor, waiting to see you, and that, at
last, a dark-veiled figure appeared at the grille, and beckoned me to
approach. I hastened to do so, my heart fluttering with I know not what
mixture of hope and fear,--the hope it might be you, and then the
fear, stronger than even hope, that I should read sadness in that sweet
face--sorrow, Mary--regret for leaving that world you never were to see
more."

"And was it me, dearest papa?"

"No, Mary," said he, with a lower and more meaning tone, "it
was another, one whom I never saw before. She came to tell me
that--that"--he faltered, and wiping a tear from his eyes, made an
effort to seem calm--"that I had lost you, darling! lost by a separation
darker and more terrible than even the iron bars of a nunnery can make.
And although I bethought me that you had but gone there, whither I
myself was hastening, I felt sorrow-struck by the tidings. I had clung
so long to the hope of leaving you behind me here, to enjoy that world
of which all your affectionate care has denied you enjoyment--to know
how, amidst its troubles and reverses, there are healing springs of love
that recompense its heaviest inflictions--I cherished this wish so
long, so ardently, that I could not face the conviction which told me it
should never be."

"Dearest papa, remember this was but a dream; bethink you, for an
instant, that it was all unreal; that I am beside you, my hand in yours,
my head upon your shoulder; that we are not parted, nor ever shall be."

The tone of deep fervor in which she spoke drew tears from the old man's
eyes, and he turned away to hide them.

"It was but a dream, as you say, Mary; but do not my waking thoughts
conjure up a future to the full as gloomy? A few months, at furthest,
a year or so more--less sanguine prophets would perhaps say weeks--and
where shall I be? and where you, Mary?"

The old man's grief could no longer be restrained, and it was in a
perfect burst of sorrow the last words came forth. She would have
spoken, but she knew not from what source to draw consolation. The
future, which to his eyes looked dark and lowering, presented an aspect
no less gloomy to her own; and her only remedy against its depressing
influence was to make her present cares occupy her mind, to the
exclusion of every other thought.

"And