He was standing with folded arms before the picture, his eyes, gleaming from under beetling brows, were devouring it hungrily, line by line.

His face was set rigidly with a look--whether of sorrow or loneliness or remorse, I do not know; but I do know that it was the saddest expression I have ever seen on any human face.

It was as if, in a single illuminating flash, he had looked into his own soul, and seen the ruin that his ungoverned pride and passion had wrought against those he loved the most.
So absorbed had he been with his thoughts, that he had not heard my step.

I turned and stole away, realizing suddenly that he was an old man, broken, infirm; that his life with its influence for good or evil was already at an end; he could never change his character now, no matter how keenly he might realize his defects.

Poor little Nannie's wilfulness was at last forgiven, but the forgiveness was fifteen years too late.