“Cannot you see who I am?” he asked, rearing his tall head beside the keen-faced visage that looked down from the wall.
“The same man grown older,” exclaimed one.
“Ephraim Earle himself!” echoed another.
“Come back from the dead!”
“The moment the house was opened!”
“Are you Ephraim Earle?” demanded Clarke, trembling for Polly in whose breast a real and unmistakable terror was rapidly taking the place of an imaginary one.
“Since I must say so, yes!” was the firm reply. “Where is my daughter? She should be on hand here to greet me.”
“I have no words of welcome. I never thought of my father being like this. Take me away, Clarke, take me away!” So spoke the terrified little one, clinging to one of her best-known neighbors for support.
“I will take you away,” Clarke assured her. “There is no need of your greeting this man till he has proved his claim to you. A girl’s heart cannot be expected to embrace such a fact in a moment.”
“Oh, it’s Ephraim Earle fast enough,” insisted one old woman. “I remember him well. Don’t you remember me, old neighbor?”