"Yes, everything," I answered warmly; "Mrs. Nyle has given me every
detail."
He looked at me steadily for a moment in silence, and the tears
gathered in his blue eyes--but they did not fall. When they had gone
back again he drew the footstool nearer, and began to stroke my hair
with one gentle hand.
"Amey," he said, "I have been waiting for this day through many a long
and lonely year. I might have hastened it, I suppose, but I could
not--however, perhaps it is time enough now. You know, now," he
continued, taking my hands in his again and holding them firmly
together, "why I have watched you, and followed your progress through
childhood and girlhood, into your blooming womanhood. You know why I
shared your little joys and sorrows in your youth; why I persuaded
your father to send you to Notre Dame, when I saw how miserable your
life was at home. During your absence I managed to find out the only
surviving relative I knew you had. I feared a day might come when you
would find yourself in need of such a friend, and indeed such came to
pass. When you returned from school I met you in the Hartmanns' ball
room; I had come in late on the evening train, and found an invitation
among my letters; I knew you had come home, and expected to find you
there, so I hastened thither, and saw you, as you know, first when you
were dancing, and next in the conservatory. I shall never forget how
you looked that night, Amey; it was as if time had rolled its iron
portals back, and that forth from the buried past came the dearest and
holiest associations of my life.
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