It was very evident that sickness or depression, or perhaps both, had made fearful ravages on his body as well as spirits.
The poor old gentleman was wretchedly clad.

It was evident that he had striven as formerly to conceal his indigence, for there was not a stain or grain of dust on his garments; but the stuff was threadbare and patched, and all his garments were too large for his shrunken limbs.
Lenora looked at him a moment anxiously.

"You do not feel ill, father, do you ?" "No, Lenora," replied he; "but I am very wretched." Lenora said nothing, but embraced him tenderly and then knelt down with his hand in hers.
"Father," said she, "it is hardly a week since you were ill in bed: we prayed to God for your restoration, and he listened to our prayers; you are cured, dear father, and yet you give way anew at the first disappointment.

You have not been successful to-day, father?
I see it in your face.

Well, what of it?
Why should it interfere with our happiness?
We have long learned how to fight against fate.