One long hour of the night had already passed away since parent and
child had been left together, and neither word nor movement had been
audible in the melancholy room. But, as the second hour began, the
girl's eyes unclosed again, and she moved painfully on the couch.
Accustomed to interpret the significance of her slightest actions,
Numerian rose and brought her one of the reviving draughts that had been
left ready for use. After she had drunk, when her eyes met her father's
fixed on her in mute and mournful inquiry, her lips closed, and formed
themselves into an expression which he remembered they had always
assumed when, as a little child, she used silently to hold up her face
to him to be kissed. The miserable contrast between what she was now
and what she had been them, was beyond the passive endurance, the
patient resignation of the spirit-broken old man; the empty cup dropped
from his hands, he knelt down by the side of the couch and groaned
aloud.
'O father! father!' cried the weak, plaintive voice above him.
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