"Time has dealt lightly with you, Grace," Richard said, after the
first curious glance. "I could almost fancy you were Grace
Elmendorff yet," and he lifted gallantly one of her chestnut
curls, just as he used to do in years agone, when she was Grace
Elmendorff.
This little act recalled so vivedly the scenes of other days that
Grace burst into a flood of tears, and hurried from the room to
the parlor adjoining, where, unobserved, she could weep again over
the hopes forever fled. Thus left to himself, with the exception
of little Dick, Richard had leisure to look about him, descrying
ere long the life-sized portrait of Nina hanging on the wall. In
an instant he stood before what was to him, not so much a picture
painted on rude canvas, as a living reality--the golden-haired
angel, who was now as closely identified with his every thought
and feeling as even Edith herself had ever been. She had followed
him over land and sea, bringing comfort to him in his dark hours
of pain, coloring his dreams with rainbow hues of promise, buoying
him up and bidding him wait a little--try yet longer, when the
only hope worth his living for now seemed to be dying out, and
when at last it, the wonderful cure, was done, and those gathered
around him said each to the other "He will see," he heard nothing
for the buzzing sound which filled his ear, and the low voice
whispering to him, "I did it--brought the daylight straight from
heaven.
Pages:
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610