"
So then it became the rector's turn to take the part of narrator.
When the story was ended, Preston Cheney lay weeping like a woman on
his couch; the first tears he had shed since his mother died and left
him an orphan of ten.
"Berene living and dying almost within reach of my arms--almost
within sound of my voice!" he cried. "Oh, why did I not find her
before the grave closed between us?--and why did no voice speak from
that grave to tell me when I held my daughter's hand in mine?--my
beautiful child, no wonder my heart went out to her with such a gush
of tenderness; no wonder I was fired with unaccountable anger and
indignation when Mabel and Alice spoke unkindly of her. Do you
remember how her music stirred me? It was her mother's heart
speaking to mine through the genius of our child.
"Arthur, you must find her--you must find her for me! If it takes my
whole fortune I must see my daughter, and clasp her in my arms before
I die."
But this happiness was not to be granted to the dying man. Overcome
by the excitement of this new emotion, he grew weaker and weaker as
the next few days passed, and at the end of the fifth day his spirit
took its flight, let us hope to join its true mate.
It had been one of his dying requests to have his body taken to
Beryngford and placed beside that of Judge Lawrence.
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