A week passed, and the community was all agog, in anticipation of
the judge's charge in the case just mentioned. It was to be given
at noon, and Mrs. Scoville, conscious that he had not slept an
hour the night before (having crept down more than once to listen
if his step had ceased), approached him as he prepared to leave
the house for the court room, and anxiously asked if he were quite
well.
"Oh, yes, I'm well," he responded sharply, looking about for
Reuther.
The young girl was standing a little behind him, with his gloves
in her hand--a custom she had fallen into in her desire to have
his last look and fond good morning.
"Come here, child," said he, in a way to make her heart beat; and,
as he took the gloves from her hand, he stooped and kissed her on
the forehead--something he had never done before. "Let me see you
smile," said he. "It's a memory I like to take with me into the
court room."
But when in her pure delight at his caress and the fatherly
feeling which gave a tremor to his simple request, she lifted her
face with that angelic look of hers which was far sweeter and far
more moving than any smile, he turned away abruptly as though he
had been more hurt than comforted, and strode out of the house
without another word.
Deborah's hand went to her heart, in the dark corner whither she
had withdrawn herself, and when she turned again towards the spot
where Reuther had stood, it was in some fear lest she had betrayed
her understanding of this deeply tried father's passionate pain.
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