“So they did not get my letter, but I can’t stop. Jennings will tell you. Take care of him. Come, Daisy—” for he had kept her unwilling hand all the time. “But what’s that for?” pointing to the black ribbons, and, stopping short, startled.
“Because of poor Harry,” said the bewildered child.
“Oh, that’s right!” cried he, striding on, and dragging her in a breathless run, as he threw open the well-known doors; and, she escaping from him, hid her face in Mary’s lap, screaming, “He says he is Harry! he says he is not drowned!”
At the same moment Ethel was in his arms, and his voice was sobbing, “Ethel! Mary! home! Where’s papa?” One moment’s almost agonising joy in the certainty of his identity! but ere she could look or think, he was crying, “Mary! oh, Ethel, see—”
Mary had not moved, but sat as if turned to stone, with breath suspended, wide-stretched eyes, and death-like cheeks—Ethel sprang to her, “Mary, Mary dear, it is Harry! It is himself! Don’t you see? Speak to her, Harry.”
He seemed almost afraid to do so, but, recovering himself, exclaimed, “Mary, dear old Polly, here I am! Oh, won’t you speak to me?” he added piteously, as he threw his arm round her and kissed her, startled at the cold touch of her cheek.
The spell seemed broken, and, with a wild hoarse shriek that rang through the house, she struggled to regain her breath, but it would only come in painful, audible catches, as she held Harry’s hand convulsively.
“What have I done?” he exclaimed, in distress.
“What’s this! Who is this frightening my dear?” was old nurse’s exclamation, as she and James came at the outcry.
“Oh, nurse, what have I done to her?” repeated Harry.