Was ever man so wise, so tender and gentle, so strong, so
comprehending? What mattered the absence of worldly goods, the
presence of care and anxiety, when n woman had a steady hand to
hold, a steadfast heart to trust, a man who would love her and
stand by her, whate'er befell?
Then the face of Ivory's mother would swim into the mental
picture; the pale face, as white as the pillow it lay upon; the
face with its aureole of ashen hair, and the wistful blue eyes
that begged of God and her children some peace before they closed
on life.
The vision of her sister was a joyful one, and her heart was at
peace about her, the plucky little princess who had blazed the
way out of the ogre's castle.
She saw Patty clearly as a future fine lady, in velvets and
satins and furs, bewitching every-body by her gay spirits, her
piquant vivacity, and the loving heart that lay underneath all
the nonsense and gave it warmth and color.
The remembrance of her father alone on the hilltop did indeed
trouble Waitstill. Self-reproach, in the true sense of the word,
she did not, could not, feel. Never since the day she was born
had she been fathered, and daughterly love was absent; but she
suffered when she thought of the fierce, self-willed old man,
cutting himself off from all possible friendships, while his
vigor was being sapped daily and hourly by his terrible greed of
money.
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