“I suppose it is hard to say so much vicariously.  Her poor mother should have heard you; it would have made her heart glad!” Then a shadow swept across his face; and he went on more hurriedly.

“But are you quite sure of all this?”

“I know my own heart, sir; or, at least, I think I do!”

“No! no!” he answered, “I don’t mean you.  That is all right!  But you spoke of my girl’s affection for me . . . and yet . . . !  And yet she has been living here, in my house, a whole year. . .  Still, she spoke to you of her loneliness—­her desolation.  I never—­it grieves me to say it, but it is true—­I never saw sign of such affection towards myself in all the year! . . .”  His voice trembled away into sad, reminiscent introspection.

“Then, sir,” I said, “I have been privileged to see more in a few days than you in her whole lifetime!” My words seemed to call him up from himself; and I thought that it was with pleasure as well as surprise that he said: 

“I had no idea of it.  I thought that she was indifferent to me.  That what seemed like the neglect of her youth was revenging itself on me.  That she was cold of heart. . . .  It is a joy unspeakable to me that her mother’s daughter loves me too!” Unconsciously he sank back upon his pillow, lost in memories of the past.

How he must have loved her mother!  It was the love of her mother’s child, rather than the love of his own daughter, that appealed to him.  My heart went out to him in a great wave of sympathy and kindliness.  I began to understand.  To understand the passion of these two great, silent, reserved natures, that successfully concealed the burning hunger for the other’s love!  It did not surprise me when presently he murmured to himself: 

“Margaret, my child!  Tender, and thoughtful, and strong, and true, and brave!  Like her dear mother! like her dear mother!”

And then to the very depths of my heart I rejoiced that I had spoken so frankly.

Presently Mr. Trelawny said: 

“Four days!  The sixteenth!  Then this is the twentieth of July?” I nodded affirmation; he went on: 

“So I have been lying in a trance for four days.  It is not the first time.  I was in a trance once under strange conditions for three days; and never even suspected it till I was told of the lapse of time.  I shall tell you all about it some day, if you care to hear.”

That made me thrill with pleasure.  That he, Margaret’s father, would so take me into his confidence made it possible. . . .  The business-like, every-day alertness of his voice as he spoke next quite recalled me: 

“I had better get up now.  When Margaret comes in, tell her yourself that I am all right.  It will avoid any shock!  And will you tell Corbeck that I would like to see him as soon as I can.  I want to see those lamps, and hear all about them!”

His attitude towards me filled me with delight.  There was a possible father-in-law aspect that would have raised me from a death-bed.  I was hurrying away to carry out his wishes; when, however, my hand was on the key of the door, his voice recalled me: