At first she only noticed a frightfully bloated countenance, long tangled hair hanging from underneath an old soiled cap, and rude, insolent eyes staring at her and Ella in a dreadfully familiar and disgusting manner. But suddenly she grew pale and staggered back-against Hannah, with a shriek of agony crying out, "O, my God! can this be my son?"
At these words, Ella, who had regarded the man with horror, burst into a loud cry.
"Open the door, Hannah," sobbed Mrs. Haven, making a dreadful effort to recover herself. "It is my son! my only son!"
But Hannah, who had always supposed Ella to be the only child, absolutely refused. "It's imposing upon, ma'am, he is. Sure and the likes of ye could never have so awful a cratur to call ye kin, let alone saying he's your son." Mrs. Haven arose from the couch upon which she had helplessly sunk, and walking feebly to the door, drew the bolt, and admitted her wayward boy. Ella covered her face with her hands and sobbed aloud.
"Pretty welcome for a fellow who has been gone two years, I'm thinking," muttered Alfred. "Ella, do hold your tongue; what are you making such a great baby of yourself for?"
Hannah stood with an air of defiance, ready to spring at the uncouth, shabbily-dressed fellow the moment her mistress would consent. But finding that there was no appearance of relenting, and that she seemed reluctlantly indeed, to admit the relation, she exclaimed, "And sure, ma'am, I'd better be turning him out entirely, though it's many a day since I've done so dirty job. But I'm thinking it'll be a disgrace to ye all, let alone me, who allus was called a dacent girl, to have the wicked cratur in it."
Ella started up and ran from the room, and Mrs. Haven motioned Hannah to follow her.
Meanwhile the most dreadful struggle was taking place in her own mind. Her heart had yearned over her son; and since she had learned to pray, his name and Ella's had always been associated in her daily supplications. But with her whole soul she shrank from companionship with such a sin-polluted wretch as this one seemed to be. It was not that he was poorly clad; it was the unmistakable marks of dissipation and vice that made him so revolting. She looked at him again; she scanned him closely to see if there was one trait that was not wholly depraved. But, alas! she grew more sick at heart every moment.
At length, feeling that she must say something, she inquired, "How long have you been ashore, my son?"
"Just landed," he replied, glancing up from under his eyebrows. "Got anything to eat in the house?" then adding, with an oath which made her shudder, "haven't tasted a mouthful since morning."