'
'I see,' said Dot, who understood her well, 'an old man sitting in
a chair, and leaning sorrowfully on the back, with his face resting
on his hand. As if his child should comfort him, Bertha.'
'Yes, yes. She will. Go on.'
'He is an old man, worn with care and work. He is a spare,
dejected, thoughtful, grey-haired man. I see him now, despondent
and bowed down, and striving against nothing. But, Bertha, I have
seen him many times before, and striving hard in many ways for one
great sacred object. And I honour his grey head, and bless him!'
The Blind Girl broke away from her; and throwing herself upon her
knees before him, took the grey head to her breast.
'It is my sight restored. It is my sight!' she cried. 'I have
been blind, and now my eyes are open. I never knew him! To think
I might have died, and never truly seen the father who has been so
loving to me!'
There were no words for Caleb's emotion.
'There is not a gallant figure on this earth,' exclaimed the Blind
Girl, holding him in her embrace, 'that I would love so dearly, and
would cherish so devotedly, as this! The greyer, and more worn,
the dearer, father! Never let them say I am blind again.
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