It was on a beautiful evening,
just at twilight, while seated at his parlor window,
that Henry saw a young woman pass by and go into the kitchen.
Not aware of ever having seen the person before, he made
an errand into the cook's department to see who the girl was.
He, however, met her in the hall, as she was about going out.
"Whom did you wish to see?" he inquired.
"Miss Gertrude," was the reply.
"What did you want to see her for?" he again asked.
"My mistress told me to give her and Master Henry her compliments,
and ask them to come over and spend the evening."
"Who is your mistress?" he eagerly inquired.
"Mrs. Miller, sir," responded the girl.
"And what's your name?" asked Henry, with a trembling voice.
"Clotelle, sir," was the reply.
The astonished father stood completely amazed, looking at
the now womanly form of her who, in his happier days,
he had taken on his knee with so much fondness and alacrity.
It was then that he saw his own and Isabella's features
combined in the beautiful face that he was then beholding.
It was then that he was carried back to the days when with
a woman's devotion, poor Isabella hung about his neck
and told him how lonely were the hours in his absence.
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