But then she began to talk of what things we must get immediately--and I was not very old nor very wise--I was interested about these things very soon, and regarded this business of preparation with a good deal of pleasure; the white silk dress, and the veil, and the orange blossoms--it may be a very poor thing to tell of myself, but I had a flutter of pleasure thinking of them; and there we sat, full of business, Alice and I, and Alice went over my wardrobe in her imagination, and began to number so many things which I would require--and it was so great a pleasure to her, and I was so much softened and cheered myself, that when I rose, after she had left me, to wave my hand in the darkness, at the light in his window, I had almost returned to the deep satisfaction of my first joy. But when I returned to the drawing-room--returned out of my own young blossoming life, with all its tumult of hopes, to my father, sitting alone at his book, all by himself, abstracted and solitary, like one whom life had parted from and passed by--I could not resist the sudden revulsion which threw me down once more. But now I was very quiet. I bent down my head into my hands where he could not see me weeping. I forgot he had wounded or injured me--I said, "My father! my dear father!" softly to myself; and then I began to dream how Harry would steal into his affections--how we would woo him out of his solitude; how his forsaken desolate life would grow bright in our young house; and I began to be very glad in my heart, though I did not dry my tears. When we were parting for the night, my father came slowly up to me, and with a gesture of fondness put his hands on my head. "Hester," he said, in a low steady voice, "you are my only child"--that was all--but the words implied everything to me. I leaned upon his arm to hide my full eyes, and he passed his hand softly over my hair--"My only child! my only child!" he repeated once or twice, and then he kissed my cheek, and "God bless you, my love!" and sent me away. I was very sad, yet I was very happy when I lay down to rest. The blind was drawn up, and I could see the light still shining in Harry's window; and I was not afraid now to put his name beside my father's when I said my prayers. It was very little more than saying my prayers with me. I had known no instruction, and in many things I was still a child. Just when I was going to sleep, some strong associations brought into my mind what Alice had told me of my father; how rejoiced he looked on the day of his betrothal, and how she never saw him look happy again--it was a painful thought, and it came to me as a ghost might have come at my bedside; I could not get far from it. I had no fear for myself, yet this haunted me. Ah, my dear father, how unhappy he had been! THE NINTH DAY.