I therefore remained silent,
not knowing what reply to make. Observing my hesitation, my uncle
Wayland said,--
"Lonely as we shall be without you, my dear Clara, I yet think it your
duty to go with your uncle Charles, who is still more lonely than we. We
must not be selfish; and I think we should feel willing to give you up."
I was much relieved to know that my uncle and aunt Wayland were willing
that I should go, although I well knew their willingness was caused by
what they considered my duty to my aged relative.
Till I prepared to leave my uncle and aunt, I knew not how tenderly I
had learned to love them. I resigned my school at Mill Town, with much
sorrow, for I had become strongly attached to my pupils. As my uncle and
aunt tenderly embraced me at parting, my uncle said, while the tears
coursed down his furrowed cheeks,--
"Remember, dear Clara, there will ever be for you a daughter's welcome,
both in our hearts and home."
CHAPTER XX.
LIGHTS AND SHADOWS.
I was agitated by many contending emotions as I alighted from the train
which had borne me to Philadelphia; but, along with many sad thoughts,
came the consoling one, that I had not returned to my native city the
friendless being I had left it.
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