Nanna, on the contrary, would listen to
her father with the utmost pleasure and interest as he related and
explained matters and things which were entirely novel to one placed in
her position of life.
And then, with what eagerness would Nanna read those few books with
which her father's little library was supplied! She fully comprehended
all she read, and she could not resist from becoming gently interested
in the characters described in her books. She sympathised with the
unhappy and oppressed, and although she rejoiced with those happy heroes
and heroines who had passed safely through the ordeals of their loves,
yet when she read of the fortunate conclusion of all their troubles,
she would sigh deeply.
But after sighing for those who _had_ lived, she sighed also for the
_living_.
She looked forward, with terror, to the day when she should lose her
father, whom she worshipped almost as a supreme being.
Her innocent heart shrunk within her as she thought of the time when a
man,--for these thoughts had already entered her little head--should
look into her eyes in search of a wife.
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