It was like the plot of a play, this touching union of a long parted mother and child.
In watching the interesting scene he forgot for a moment how it might affect his own interests.
The beautiful, sorrowful widow, with tears streaming down her pale cheeks, extended her arms to Geraldine, exclaiming:
"I am your own mother, my darling!"
Startling and surprising as this statement was to Geraldine, not a doubt of its truth entered the girl's mind.
On the contrary, her heart leaped with joy, for she had already felt herself drawn with inexplicable tenderness to the speaker.
And the moment that she held out her arms to Geraldine the girl sprang into them gladly, and the next moment they were embracing each other with ineffable tenderness, the grief of the widow comforted in a measure by the restoration of her daughter.
Clifford Standish looking on, suddenly felt a touch of uneasiness, and muttered, under his breath:
"Confound the luck! I wish she had not met this woman until after we were married."
And thinking it was time for him to assert his claim, he waited until the mother and daughter withdrew from each other's arms, and said, respectfully: