He told them all, with the brief passionate eloquence which perfect joy inspires. Before half his narrative was over, Eva had crept into his arms, and Mrs. Carter was sobbing like a child.
“And this lady is my own mother?”
Ross leaned forward and kissed Eva’s forehead.
“Yes, Eva, your unhappy, bereaved mother.”
“Poor lady!”
“She is waiting for you now.”
Eva arose agitated and trembling.
“I am ready; take me to my mother. Oh! how strangely the word seems; but my mother that was! how can I give her up!”
“There is nothing to give up, Eva; but everything to accept.”
“You—you have always been my father!” cried the girl with a sudden outburst of affection, “from the first moment I have loved you.”