"She is not going up the sound, Edward; she is headed in here." Mr. Hamilton took the glasses and scanned the steamer.
"She does seem to be headed this way."
"It is the Mariella, Edward."
Mrs. Hamilton spoke in a low tone of deep conviction. Her husband looked at her anxiously.
"You are trying to make coincidences fit your wishes, Mary," he said. "Do not build up false hopes; the disappointment will be too much for your worn nerves."
"I shall not be disappointed, Edward; see, she is headed straight in now."
"It is strange," said Mr. Hamilton, beginning himself to take an interest in the steamer, which was now certainly headed almost for the cottage.
"Quick, Edward, the glasses; I can see people on her decks."
Mrs. Hamilton rose from her chair as she spoke and almost snatched the glasses from her husband's hands in her eagerness. For a long time she stood like a statue with the glasses trained on the steamer, and then suddenly she took a white shawl from her shoulders and waved it wildly above her head.
"It is Harry," she cried, sobbing with excitement, as she thrust the glasses into her husband's hands. "See, they have seen us, too, and Harry is waving his hat."