He only
knew it, when he felt her hand upon his own, and
saw her looking up into his face.
With wonder? No. It was his first impression,
and he was fain to look at her again, to set it right.
No, not with wonder. With an eager and inquiring
look; but not with wonder. At first it was alarmed
and serious; then, it changed into a strange, wild,
dreadful smile of recognition of his thoughts; then,
there was nothing but her clasped hands on her brow,
and her bent head, and falling hair.
Though the power of Omnipotence had been his to
wield at that moment, he had too much of its diviner
property of Mercy in his breast, to have turned one
feather's weight of it against her. But he could
not bear to see her crouching down upon the little
seat where he had often looked on her, with love
and pride, so innocent and gay; and, when she rose
and left him, sobbing as she went, he felt it a relief
to have the vacant place beside him rather than her
so long cherished presence. This in itself was an-
guish keener than all, reminding him how desolate
he was become, and how the great bond of his life
was rent asunder.
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