"Amy," said Mr Harrington, "why do you not speak?"
Amy's voice was almost choked as she endeavoured to reply.
"Oh uncle!" she exclaimed—"if I could but tell——," and she burst into tears.
"This must not be," said the deep, rich voice of the stranger. "Harrington, it is wrong to trifle with her, Amy, my own precious child!"—and the next moment Amy was clasped in her father's arms.
CHAPTER XXIII.
In her after-life Amy enjoyed many and great blessings; but she could never recur to any which equalled the pure, intense pleasure of that moment. Colonel Herbert's return seemed the restoration of both her parents; and even before she had again looked in her father's face, and wondered at the strangeness of his sudden arrival, she had thought of the unspeakable relief her mother would experience, and involuntarily rushed to the door of her chamber. She was stopped, however, by Mr Harrington.
"We must be careful," he said; "your mamma is too weak to bear such a surprise. I will break it to her gently."
"Mamma is moving," said Amy; "she will hear us. May I not go?"
Mrs Herbert had caught the sound of voices, and asked if Amy were there.
"There is nothing to be done, then," said Mr Harrington, in answer to
Amy's imploring look; "but remember you must be cautious."