With a blind man's exquisite sense, he feels Tom's shadow fall on him, and starts, and calls him by name; for he has been expecting him, and thinking of nothing else all the morning, and takes for granted that it must be he.
In another moment Tom is at his father's side.

What need to describe the sacred joy of those first few minutes, even if it were possible?
But unrestrained tenderness between man and man, rare as it is, and, as it were, unaccustomed to itself, has no passionate fluency, no metaphor or poetry, such as man pours out to woman, and woman again to man.

All its language lies in the tones, the looks, the little half-concealed gestures, hints which pass themselves off modestly in jest; and such was Tom's first interview with his father; till the old Isaac, having felt Tom's head and hands again and again, to be sure whether it were his very son or no, made him sit down by him, holding him still fast, and began-- "Now, tell me, tell me, while Jane gets you something to eat.

No, Jane, you mustn't talk to Master Tom yet, to bother about how much he's grown;--nonsense, I must have him all to myself, Jane.

Go and get him some dinner.