He remembered them once before so in a fever, when every one thought the lad was dying, and he lay on his bed speechless, and gazing with a dreadful gloom. Good God! how the father clung to the doctor then, and with what a sickening anxiety he followed him: what a weight of grief was off his mind when, after the crisis of the fever, the lad recovered, and looked at his father once more with eyes that recognised him. But now there was no help or cure, or chance of reconcilement: above all, there were no humble words to soothe vanity outraged and furious, or bring to its natural flow the poisoned, angry blood. And it is hard to say which pang it was that tore the proud father's heart most keenly--that his son should have gone out of the reach of his forgiveness, or that the apology which his own pride expected should have escaped him.

He remembered him once in a fever, when everyone thought the lad was dying, and he lay on his bed speechless. Good God! how the father clung to the doctor with sickening anxiety: what a weight of grief was off his mind when the lad recovered. But now there was no help or cure; above all, there were no humble words to soothe outraged vanity and poisoned, angry blood. It is hard to say which pang tore the proud father's heart most keenly - that his son should have gone out of the reach of his forgiveness, or that he could never receive any apology.
