"Yes, yes, Isaac—what of her?" and grasping him by the arm, Algernon gazed upon the other's features with a look of alarm.
"Now don't be skeered, Mr. Reynolds—thar han't nothing happened—only I 'spect she's bin a thinking o' you—who every body thought war dead—and she's kind o' grown thin and pale on't, and we war gitting afeared it might end badly; but as you've come now, I know as how it'll all be right agin."
Algernon released the speaker's arm, and for some moments gazed abstractedly upon the ground; while over his countenance swept one of those painful expressions of the deep workings of the soul, to which, from causes known to the reader, he was subject. At length he said, with a sigh:
"Well, Isaac, I have come to behold her once again, and then—"
He paused, apparently overpowered by some latent feeling.
"And then!" said Isaac, repeating the words, with a look of surprise: "I reckon you arn't a going to leave us agin soon, Mr. Reynolds?"
"There are circumstances, unknown to you, friend Isaac, which I fear will compel me so to do."
"What!" cried the other; "start off agin, and put your scalp into the hands of the infernal, ripscallious, painted Injens? No, by thunder! you shan't do it, Mr. Reynolds; for sting me with a nest o' hornets, ef I don't hang to ye like a tick to a sheep. No, no, Mr. Reynolds; don't—don't think o' sech a thing. But come, go in and see Ella—she'd be crazy ef she knew you war here."
"Ay," answered Algernon, sadly, "that is what I fear. I dare not meet her suddenly, Isaac—the shock might be too much for her nerves. I have sent for you to go first and communicate intelligence of my arrival, in a way to surprise her as little as possible."
"I'll do it, Mr. Reynolds; but—(here Isaac's voice trembled, his features grew pale as death, and his whole frame quivered with intense emotion)—but—but my—my father—what—"