He sat with his eyes fixed on the table, so immersed in thought, that a far heavier tread than the light foot of his child could make, might have failed to rouse him.

His face was turned towards her.

By the waning lamp, and at that haggard hour, it looked worn and dejected; and in the utter loneliness surrounding him, there was an appeal to Florence that struck home.
'Papa! Papa! speak to me, dear Papa!' He started at her voice, and leaped up from his seat.

She was close before him' with extended arms, but he fell back.
'What is the matter ?' he said, sternly.

'Why do you come here?
What has frightened you ?' If anything had frightened her, it was the face he turned upon her.