"Is this the daughter of a slave? I know
'Tis not with men as shrubs and trees, that by
The shoot you know the rank and order of
The stem. Yet who from such a stem would look
For such a shoot?"
Knowles.
The morrow came. Emily was summoned to the library, to hear the reading
of her father's will. With her no worldly consideration could mitigate
the deep grief that pervaded her heart. She derived her only consolation
from a purer, higher source. She was a true mourner, and the acquisition
of the immense fortune of which she was the heiress was not an event
which could heal the wound in her heart. She looked not forward to the
bright scenes of triumph and of conquest that awaited her. She was not
dazzled by the brilliancy of the position to which wealth and an
honorable name entitled her. Such thoughts never occurred to her. She
did think of Henry Carroll; but not in the proud situation to which her
wealth might elevate him, but as a pure heart that would beat in unison
with her own, that would sympathize with her in her hour of sorrow; as
one who would mingle his tears with hers, over the bier of a common
parent.
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