Back upon the steps stood an old gentleman, with
white hair and flowing beard, handsome, straight, and stately--Graeme's
father, waiting his turn.
'Welcome home, my lad,' was his greeting, as he kissed his son, and the
tremor of his voice, and the sight of the two men kissing each other,
like women, sent me again to my horses' heads.
'There's Connor, mother!' shouted out Graeme, and the dainty little
lady, in her black silk and white lace, came out to me quickly, with
outstretched hands.
'You, too, are welcome home,' she said, and kissed me.
I stood with my hat off, saying something about being glad to come,
but wishing that I could get away before I should make quite a fool of
myself. For as I looked down upon that beautiful face, pale, except for
a faint flush upon each faded cheek, and read the story of pain endured
and conquered, and as I thought of all the long years of waiting and
of vain hoping, I found my throat dry and sore, and the words would not
come. But her quick sense needed no words, and she came to my help.
Pages:
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260