As I said this I gazed at Ellen, and there must have been a growing earnestness in my gaze. I had raised an ideal of her—had it met with disappointment? I was self-convicted.
"I recant," I added in a tone of satisfaction.
"I am glad," she said, and my heart beat more quickly at the thought that she understood me.
We were within a dozen yards of the farmhouse.
"Does your mother recognize us?"
"Hardly. She is very short-sighted."
"Let us walk quickly."
Mrs. Cameron rose, her hand at her heart, in a state of agitation. I observed that she rose with difficulty; before we reached her she sank into her chair.
"It is Mr. Fletcher, mother."
I prevented her from rising again, perceiving that she was not strong, and I did not interrupt the little speech in which she gratefully welcomed me. There was a strong likeness between her and Ellen; though worn with suffering, I noticed the same delicately cut features, the same trustful eyes, in which the spirit of goodness shone. Sitting there, talking to her, it seemed to me as if I had rejoined a family knit to me by close ties of sympathy and kinship. Ellen had taken up her work, and was busy with her needle.