Hester was running, and when she came near was quite out of breath.
She had feared how it would be when she found her father had taken Mark for a walk, and her first feeling was of anger, for she had inherited not a little of her father's spirit: indirectly the black sheep had roused evils in the flock unknown before. Never in her life had Hester been aware of such a feeling as that with which she now hurried to meet her father. When, however, she saw the boy's arms round his father's neck, and his cheek laid against his, her anger went from her, and she was sorry and ashamed, notwithstanding that she knew by Mark's face, of which she understood every light and shade, that he was suffering much.
"Let me take him, papa," she said.
The father had no intention of giving up the child. But before he knew, Mark had stretched his arms to Hester, and was out of his into hers. Instinctively trying to retain him, he hurt him, and the boy gave a little cry. Thereupon with a new pang of pain, and a new sting of resentment, which he knew unreasonable but could not help, he let him go and followed in distressed humiliation.
Hester's heart was very sore because of this new grief, but she saw some hope in it.
"He is too heavy for you, Hester," said her father. "Surely as it is my fault, I ought to bear the penalty!"
"It's no penalty—is it, Markie?" said Hester merrily.
"No, Hessie," replied Mark, almost merrily. "—You don't know how strong Hessie is, papa!"
"Yes, I am very strong. And you ain't heavy—are you, Markie?"
"No," answered Mark; "I feel so light sometimes, I think I could fly; only I don't like to try for fear I couldn't. I like to think perhaps I could."