“Ayacanora's heart is warm; she does not think about cold.”
“Warm? perhaps you will warm my heart for me, then.”
“Would God I could do it, mother!” said Amyas, half reproachfully.
Mrs. Leigh looked up in his face, and burst into a violent flood of tears.
“Sinful! sinful that I am!”
“Blessed creature!” cried Amyas, “if you speak so I shall go mad. Mother, mother, I have been dreading this meeting for months. It has been a nightmare hanging over me like a horrible black thunder-cloud; a great cliff miles high, with its top hid in the clouds, which I had to climb, and dare not. I have longed to leap overboard, and flee from it like a coward into the depths of the sea.—The thought that you might ask me whether I was not my brother's keeper—that you might require his blood at my hands—and now, now! when it comes! to find you all love, and trust, and patience—mother, mother, it's more than I can bear!” and he wept violently.
Mrs. Leigh knew enough of Amyas to know that any burst of this kind, from his quiet nature, betokened some very fearful struggle; and the loving creature forgot everything instantly, in the one desire to soothe him.
And soothe him she did; and home the two went, arm in arm together, while Ayacanora held fast, like a child, by the skirt of Mrs. Leigh's cloak. The self-help and daring of the forest nymph had given place to the trembling modesty of the young girl, suddenly cast on shore in a new world, among strange faces, strange hopes, and strange fears also.
“Will your mother love me?” whispered she to Amyas, as she went in.
“Yes; but you must do what she tells you.”