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The Recognition

by Amy Graham

“WE are all so sorry!”

Emily Dunbar, looking through the mist that tears made over her dark eyes, saw faces round her that fully certified to the truth of the exclamation.

She was standing in the broad hall of the “Young Ladies’ Seminary,” of Oak Hall, the centre of a group of sympathizing schoolmates who had assembled to bid her farewell. Only one hour before a telegraph, cruel in its brevity, had summoned her home to her father’s death-bed, and before her melancholy packing was finished a second brief message told her she was too late for one parting word, and could only see the face she loved still in death. Her breaking heart silenced all words of answer as her companion’s words of sorrow fell upon her ears; she could only grasp the hands extended to her in close clasps of friendship, and sob broken words of thanks. One hand, the last extended, lingered long in hers, and Fanny Watson’s low, sweet voice broke the stillness that followed the departure of the others from the hall.

“Dear Emily, I have no words to tell you how I grieve for you! But you will consider me your best friend always, will you not? You will come to me if you need any service, Emily?”

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