A Fair Emigrant, Chapters III-V [pp. 83-106]

A FAIR EMIGRANT.
the poor come to him for help and the rich entrust him with
their interests. I would ask them to look at his sad eyes, his
white hair, and I would say,' Is this the man you branded and
drove out from you?'"
Flinging herself on her bed, she cried herself to sleep, and
soon slept the undisturbed slumber of pure and perfect health.
After some hours she wakened suddenly with a strange, startled
feeling, a belief that her father had been standing at her bedside
the moment before her eyes had opened, that he had bent over
her and spoken to her. Even when wide awake and aware that
this must have been a delusion, a dream, she felt uneasy, as
though intelligence had been given her that something unusual
had happened. Dawn was already making objects dimly visible
in the room, giving them that ghostly aspect which all things
take at the first sign of the approach of another day, and, won dering if her father had returned to the house, she lay listening,
thinking it possible his entrance might have wakened her. All
was still, and, with an anxiety that would not be controlled, she
rose and went to the window commanding a view of one end of
the log hut. The faint star of light which she could always see
when he was there at night was burning still. How long he was
lingering over that painful retrospection! How tired he would
be to-morrow! Full of a tender concern for him, she dressed
quickly, went noiselessly down the staircase, and let herself out
of the house, with the intention of persuading him to give up his
vigil, and of preparing some refreshment which he might take
before going to his much-needed rest.
She was soon at the door of the shanty, and, finding it unfastened, went in, calling softly to her father that it was she.
There was no answer. The light on the table was burning
low with a flicker that seemed to struggle with the encroachments of the dawn-light, and she could see her father'; figure sitting in his chair by the table, his head leaned slightly to one side
and resting on his hand. His other hand lay upon some papers
which were before him on the table-the letters he had taken
from the casket, which stood empty by their side. Her first impression was that he had fallen asleep-no unnatural consequence
of his long day's wandering in the open air, followed by hours of
vigil. She hesitated, unwilling to disturb him, and waited, expecting to see him wake or stir.
The lamp flickered out, and the daylight grew stronger in
the room. Desmond's face was in shadow, and his attitude was
one of such perfect repose that his daughter felt no alarm, only
I 886.]