livin’, let him be as rich as he may, that feels such happiness as you’ve given me to-night.”
He went stumbling down the stairs, and walked homewards at a great speed, so that when he reached the Buildings he had to wipe his face and stand for a moment before beginning the ascent. The children were at their home lessons; he astonished them by flinging his hat mirthfully on to the table.
“Now then, father!” cried young Tom, the eight-year-old, whose pen was knocked out of his hand. With a chuckle John advanced to Clara’s room. As he closed the door behind him she rose. His face was mottled; there were tear-stains about his eyes, and he had a wild, breathless look.
“An’ you never told me! You let me go without half a word!”
Clara put her hands upon his shoulders and kissed him. “I didn’t quite know whether it was true or not, father.”
“My darling! My dear girl! Come an’ sit on my knee, like you used to when you was a little ’un. I’m a rough old father for such as you, but nobody’ll never love you
