His bowed head, and her angel-face and filial duty, derived a more pathetic meaning from it than they had had before. If I had wanted anything by which to mark this night of our reunion, I should have found it in this.

Agnes rose up from her father’s side, before long; and going softly to her piano, played some of the old airs to which we had often listened in that place.

“Have you any intention of going away again?” Agnes asked me, as I was standing by.

“What does my sister say to that?”

“I hope not.”

“Then I have no such intention, Agnes.”

“I think you ought not, Trotwood, since you ask me,” she said, mildly. “Your growing reputation and success enlarge your power of doing good; and if I could spare my brother,” with her eyes upon me, “perhaps the time could not.”