CHAPTER XXX.
THE RETURN.
In five minutes Agricola returned; his face was pale and agitated—his eyes glistened with tears, and his hands trembled; but his countenance expressed extraordinary happiness and emotion. He stood at the door for a moment, as if too much affected to accost his mother.
Frances's sight was so bad that she did not immediately perceive the change her son's countenance had undergone.
"Well, my child—what is it?" she inquired.
Before the blacksmith could reply, Mother Bunch, who had more discernment, exclaimed: "Goodness, Agricola—how pale you are! Whatever is the matter?"
"Mother," said the artisan, hastening to Frances, without replying to the sempstress,—"mother, expect news that will astonish you; but promise me you will be calm."
"What do you mean? How you tremble! Look at me! Mother Bunch was right—you are quite pale."
"My kind mother!" and Agricola, kneeling before Frances, took both her hands in his—"you must—you do not know,—but—"
The blacksmith could not go on. Tears of joy interrupted his speech.