His first impulse was to rush boldly in and make himself known, but,
the first transport over, his American caution prevailed, and he
slipped down another passage which commanded a view of the staircase,
and watched from his point of vantage the many persons returning from
visiting their friends. He felt relieved when he saw Bennett take
his departure, and with one bound he rushed into the middle of the
room where the old man was, and, throwing himself round his father's
neck, wept like a child. The old man did not recognize him at first,
but when he did he went into hysterics, so great was the shock to
his nervous system. Never was there such a commotion in the quiet
Nunnery, and the inmates gathered round in excited groups to listen
to Hill's story. He told them that his father had left Boston some
years before, and, becoming unable to support himself, had been
placed by a heartless elder brother in the cold confines of the
Nunnery, although the younger members of the family were both
willing and anxious to support their aged parent. There being no
reason why the old man should not leave the institution if so
inclined, the Superior allowed him, after some hesitation, to take
his departure, first receiving the grateful thanks both of himself
and of his son for her kind and fostering care. Hill left a letter
for his brother, informing him that, his father being willing, he
had taken him away from the Nunnery, and that as they evidently did
not want to keep him with their families, he was about to take him
to live with _his_.

Bennett was furious when he received the letter, but, as Mrs. Hill
was now no more, and no threats or exposures of any kind could
induce young Hill and his father to separate, he allowed them to go
their way in peace.