Fact and Fancy

The snow-storm continued all that afternoon. The customary hour for
Bressant's visit to the Parsonage went by, and he did not appear. The
professor smoked two extra pipes, and spent half an hour looking out
across the valley trying to discern the open spot upon the top of the
hill. Finally, the early twilight set in, and he returned to his chair,
but felt no impulse to light a lamp and take up a book. He sat tilted
back, pulling Shakespeare's nose with meditative fingers. A gloom
gradually settled over the room, withdrawing one after another of the
familiar objects around him from the old gentleman's sight; it even
seemed to creep into his heart, and create a vague uneasiness there. He
tried to shake it off, telling himself that he was the happiest and most
fortunate old fellow alive; that every thing was coming out just as he
had hoped and prayed it might; that one daughter, with the man of her
choice, would be just far enough removed from his fireside to give
piquancy to the frequent visits he should receive from her; while the
other would still, for a time, continue to pour out sunshine in the
house, and redouble her love for him by way of compensating for what he
should miss in Sophie's absence. And then the professor built an airier
and a fairer castle still: beneath it lay the heavy clouds of suffering,
barren effort, and hope deferred; its sunlit walls were hewn of solid
faith; the banner which floated over the battlements was woven with
white threads of truth; over the arched entrance-gate was written
"Constancy." Yet, fair and lofty as the castle was, the
building-materials were taken from no less homely edifices than the
village boarding-house and his own Parsonage!