It fell from her fingers into her bosom. A
lovely tinge of color rose on her cheeks, and spread downward to her
neck, as if it followed the falling hair. She closed her eyes, and let
her fair head droop softly. The world passed from her; and, for one
enchanted moment, Love opened the gates of Paradise to the daughter of
Eve.
The trivial noises in the neighboring street, gathering in number as the
morning advanced, forced her back to the hard realities of the passing
time. She raised her head with a heavy sigh, and opened her eyes once
more on the mean and miserable little room.
The extracts from the will and the letter--those last memorials of her
father, now so closely associated with the purpose which had possession
of her mind--still lay before her. The transient color faded from her
face, as she spread the little manuscript open on her lap. The extracts
from the will stood highest on the page; they were limited to those
few touching words in which the dead father begged his children's
forgiveness for the stain on their birth, and implored them to remember
the untiring love and care by which he had striven to atone for it.
The extract from the letter to Mr.
Pages:
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368