"
Adele, too, is overcome with a sudden seriousness.
"Is she living, papa?" And she gives him an appealing look that must be
answered.
And Maverick seems somehow appalled by that innocent, confiding
expression of hers.
"May-be, may-be, my darling; she was living not long since; yet it can
never matter to you or me more. You will trust me in this, Adele?" And
he kisses her tenderly.
And she, returning the caress, but bursting into tears as she does so,
says,--
"I will, I do, papa."
"There, there, darling!"--as he folds her to him; "no more tears,--no
more tears, _cherie_!"
But even while he says it, he is nervously searching his pockets, since
there is a little dew that must be wiped from his own eyes. Maverick's
emotion, however, was but a little momentary contagious sympathy with
the daughter,--he having no understanding of that unsatisfied yearning
in her heart of which this sudden tumult of feeling was the passionate
outbreak.
Meantime Adele is not without her little mementos of the life at
Ashfield, which come in the shape of thick double letters from that good
girl Rose,--her dear, dear friend, who has been advised by the little
traveller to what towns she should direct these tender missives; and
Adele is no sooner arrived at these postal stations than she sends for
the budget which she knows must be waiting for her.
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