'O father, father, I could not leave you so, I made him bring me back,
if only for a few days! O father, father! for you are my father, the
only father I can ever know,--and so kind and good!'
In the gloom she knelt by his bedside, and her arms were around his
neck. Waring came in afterwards, silent and annoyed, yet not unkind.
He stirred the dying brands into a flame.
'What is this?' he said, starting, as the light fell across the
pillow.
'It is nothing,' replied Fog, and his voice sounded far away; 'I am an
old man, children, and all is well.'
They watched him through the dawning, through the lovely day, through
the sunset. Waring repentant, Silver absorbed in his every breath; she
lavished upon him now all the wealth of love her unconscious years had
gathered. Orange seemed to agree with her master that all was well.
She came and went, but not sadly, and crooned to herself some strange
African tune that rose and fell more like a chant of triumph than a
dirge. She was doing her part, according to her light, to ease the
going of the soul out of this world.
Grayer grew the worn face, fainter the voice, colder the shrivelled
old hands in the girl's fond clasp.
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