To many persons, Uncle Geoffrey would scarce have spoken in this way; but he was aware of a certain tendency in Henrietta’s mind to merge the reverence and respect she owed to her parents, in a dreamy unpractical feeling for the father whom she had never known, whose voice she had never heard, and from whom she had not one precept to obey; while she lost sight of that honour and duty which was daily called for towards her mother. It was in honour, not in love, that Henrietta was wanting, and with how many daughters is it not the same? It was therefore, that though even to himself it seemed harsh, and cost him a pang, Mr. Geoffrey Langford resolved that his niece’s first visit to her father’s grave should not be spent in fruitless dreams of him or of his presence, alluring because involving neither self-reproach nor resolution; but in thoughts which might lead to action, to humility, and to the yielding up of self-will. Henrietta looked very thoughtful. “That time is so far away!” said she. “How do you know that?” said her uncle in the deep low tone that brought the full perception that “it is nigh, even at the doors.” She gave a sort of shuddering sigh, the reality being doubly brought home to her, by the remembrance of the suddenness of her father’s summons. “It is awful,” she said. “I cannot bear to think of it.” “Henrietta,” said her uncle solemnly, “guard yourself from being so satisfied with a dream of the present as to lose sight of the real, most real future.” He paused, and as she did not speak, went on: “The present, which is the means of attaining to that future, is one not of visions and thoughts, but of deeds.” Again Henrietta sighed, but presently she said, “But, uncle, that would bring us back to the world of sense. Are we not to pray that we may in heart and mind ascend?” “Yes, but to dwell with Whom? Not to stop short with objects once of earthly affection.” “Then would you not have me think of him at all?” said she, almost reproachfully. “I would have you take care, Henrietta, lest the thought should absorb the love and trust due to your true and Heavenly Father, and at the same time you forget what on earth is owed to your mother. Do you think that is what your father would desire?” “You mean,” she said sadly, “that while I do not think enough of God, and while I love my own way so well, I have no right to dwell on the thought I love best, the thought that he is near.”