He opened his arms and his whole face was radiant with passionate and tender love. She did not move, but her eyes gazed into his, like one in a happy dream, who fears to awake.
He came swiftly forward, and holding out his arms, exclaimed in a voice that trembled with the excess of his joy:
"My Lily! My darling!"
But she did not spring to meet him, as he hoped and expected, and thrilled by the music of his tone she grew paler standing quite still, with trembling lips and eyes that shone like stars when autumn mists begin to gather.
"My Lily, come to me, of your own dear will."
"Mr. Palma, I am glad, very glad, to see my guardian once more."
She put out her hand, which shook, despite her efforts to keep it steady, and her own voice sounded far, far off, like an echo lost among strange hills.
He came a step nearer, but did not take her hand, and when he leaned toward her, she suddenly clasped her hands and rested her chin upon them, in the old childish fashion he remembered so well.
"Does my Lily know why I crossed the Atlantic?"
A spasm of pain quivered over her features, and though he saw how white her lips turned at that instant, her answer was clear, cold, and distinct.