But she did not fly to his arms. Some deep inward consciousness restrained her and the words of Rachel, that just now rang in her ears.
How tall and sweet and strange withal she was. He stood for a moment electrified. She was a child no longer.
Then she found her tongue, though there was a distraught expression in her face as if she could cry.
"Oh, Andrew, it is a great relief to greet thee, but there is not a moment to lose. Thy poor father is dying and longs to see thee. And there is sorrel Jack in the stable, fresh and fleet as the wind. Madam Wetherill has gone out to a tea-drinking, but she said thou wert to take him at once, and we were so afraid thou would not come in time. Joe"—to the black hall boy—"see that Jack is made ready. Meanwhile, wilt thou have a glass of wine, or ale, or even a cup of tea?"
"Nothing, dear child. When did thou see them last?" His voice sounded hollow to himself.
"Three days ago."
"And my mother?"
"She is well. She grows sweeter and more angel-like every day."
Then they stood and looked at each other. How fine and brave he was, and he held his head with such spirit.
"Oh," she could not resist this, "was it not glorious there at Yorktown?"