Thoughts of the dead were with him, too, to-night, and with
his face buried in his broad, rough hands, he thought of,
_her_, whose winsome smile and gentle ways had woven around
his heart a mighty and undying love, such as few men ever felt. Of
Dora, too, he thought--Dora, whom he had never seen--and his heart
yearned towards her with a deep tenderness, because his Fannie had
been her mother.
"I should love her, I know," he said, "even though she were cold-
hearted and stupid as they say;" then, as he remembered the
letter, he continued, "I will open it, for it may have tidings of
the child."
The seal was broken, the letter unfolded, and a tress of shining
hair dropped on the old man's hand, clinging lovingly, as it were,
about his fingers, while a low, deep cry broke the stillness of
the room. He knew it in a moment--knew it was _Fannie's
hair_--the same he had so oft caressed when she was but a
little girl and he a grown-up man. It was Fannie's hair, come to
him over land and sea, and his eyes grew dim with tears, which
rained over his thin, dark face as he kissed again and again the
precious boon, dearer far to him than the golden ore of India.
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