“My friend, how has it been with you this long, long time? I mean how has it been with your heart and soul, your inner life? Have you been happy—have you had any great life purpose? Oh, Aaron, often when I have watched you in your daily life, as you walked, or rode, or drove; as you sat at table, or at your writing-desk, or settled business with your overseer or agents; or jested or told anecdotes among your friends; when you have seemed to live lightly on the outside of things, I have longed to ask you, ‘How is with you—is this reality, and is this all of your life, and are you contented with it—are you happy?’ And when I have seen you sit, or stand, or walk apart, silent, moody, abstracted, retired into yourself, I have longed to knock at your heart’s door, to be let in, too—to be let into your confidence, and to give you my sympathy, but I dared never to do so. It has taken the grief and passion of this hour to enable me to do so now. But this shall never be so again, shall it? We shall never be such strangers to each other again? Come, tell me now—how it is with you. Are you happy?” “Quite happy, just at this hour, Alice.” “And do you truly love me—a little? Oh, love me—only love me!” “Love you! That is not so difficult, Alice. You are still a very lovely woman.” “Will you let me deliver Elsie’s last message to you?” He quickly averted his face to hide the dark cloud that overswept it, while he answered: “I will hear it.” “Elsie’s parting words to me were, ‘Oh, mother, you love my father very dearly, do you not?’ I answered, ‘Yes.’ She replied, ‘Oh, if you love him, mother, win my pardon from him!’ Aaron, look on me. Father, forgive your child for loving her husband as much as her mother loves thee.” “Alice,” he said, drawing her again to his bosom and kissing her, “this seals your full pardon; be content; for the rest, give me time.” “Oh, if I could persuade you to forgive poor Elsie—who only needs her father’s pardon and blessing to be perfectly happy in her humble state.” “Alice, if Elsie were before me, as you are, in all your beauty, perhaps I could not choose but be reconciled with her as with you, my lovely Alice.” Alice was so unused to praise from him that these words and caresses were beginning to embarrass her. Blushing like a very girl, she withdrew herself from his arms, and sat down. Then, as fearing to have offended, she said: “Do not think me ungrateful. Test my sincerity in any way you please.” “In any way, Alice?” he asked significantly. “Yes. Try me—test me.” “Pause—think—in any way?” “In anything and everything will I obey you, that does not transgress the laws of God, I mean, of course.”