_THE HOUR OF HEALING_
The mighty city seemed hushed as I made my way along the corridor of
the old hotel. But I suppose the hush was from my heart.
"You'll wait here, will you, ma'am?" and the bellboy opened the door of
the retired little parlour as he spoke. "I'll bring Mr. Lundy in a
minute. Yes, I think he's in, ma'am; his room's on this floor. Don't
you want me to take him your card?"
"No," I answered; "just tell him a lady wants to see him here--an old
friend of his."
The boy disappeared along the shadowy hall. I had but a few minutes to
wait. "This here's the door, sir," I heard the boy direct; and then I
could catch the shuffling step, not yet forgotten, as a tall and bended
form came slowly into the room. Keen and curious was the glance that
came from the enquiring eyes, swiftly searching amid the failing light.
I knew him. Only a glance I had, but it was enough to revive the
memories of girlhood, to carry me back over all the waste of years, to
recall with lightning speed the love and laughter of the days that were
no more. My heart leaped within me as I saw the change that time had
made. Uncle was an old man now, and the years had bowed the erect and
stalwart frame; snowy white was the hair that had been but streaked
with gray when I saw it last; more serious than of old, but flashing
the same kindling light, the same lofty pride, were the kindly eyes
whose glow no years could quench or dim.
"Oh, uncle!" I sobbed, the storm breaking as in a moment; "oh, uncle!
Uncle dear, it's me--it's your little girl--it's Helen."
He had started back as I moved towards him. But my voice arrested him,
that wondrous feature that changes not with changing years. A moment
he stood, as though he had heard the trump of doom itself. Then, like
an aspen, from head to foot he trembled--and the fear flashed through
my mind that I had acted with cruel haste.
But the great cry which broke from him--no articulate word--rang with
such fullness of joy and strength as to dispel my every fear. A moment
later I was in his arms. He bore me to the window, those arms as
strong as in other days, smoothing back my hair as he leaned over and
peered into my face.
"Oh, God!" the words coming like a prayer; "it's Helen--she's come
back. But it's been so long--and your hair's getting gray, Helen--and
you look older than when you went away."