"My boy, it is a sad day for us all when you leave the home nest. We shall miss you more than I can express," said the colonel at length. "Ah! I had hoped to see you settled near us in our old age in this grand country. Clifford, I have seen a great many regions on this continent famous for their beauty and fertility, but this is the only place that I have ever seen where I would be perfectly content to live and die. You have yet to learn that 'distant hills' are no greener than those of home, and you will travel the wide world over and find no other place to compare with this, my son. I have been thinking to-day, Clifford," continued his father, as he pushed his plate of untasted food back on the table and folded his napkin--"that if I had only a tithe of the fortune that I once lost on this spot, it might be enhanced an hundred-fold at the great land-sale Monday; for I learn by to-day's _Times_ that the Mastodon Bank has failed, carrying down in its collapse all the parties who had the lands condemned for sale, so now they are unable to bid at the auction, and hundreds of thousands of acres will be sold at a few cents an acre without competition. Oh, I realize that it is bitter, indeed, to be poor, my boy, for it is only your ambition that drives you from us," and, rising, he paced back and forth with bowed head, while Mrs. Warlow's tears flowed unchecked as she thought of the long, dreary years that might drag on before her beloved boy returned.
The Warlow family were never demonstrative. There was always a matter-of-fact regard for each other; but this moment of sorrow brought to the surface a depth of family affection of which Clifford had never dreamed, and, as his father proceeded, he became more deeply affected than he ever had been before.
He thought, "The old days of trial and poverty are over forever," and as the realization of the great change, and his narrow escape from the misery, of self-exile flashed upon him, he leaned his head upon his hands, and a great sob shook his frame, while hot tears--yes, tears, which danger and the despair of a hopeless love had failed to wring--now fell in a torrent, as the storm of emotion, new and strange, surged in his breast.