So he supposed himself mistaken, and the cruel disappointment had made him actually ill.
But now he knew that it was no mistake.
It was Geraldine herself that he had seen—dear, beautiful Geraldine, his own betrothed, his heart's darling.
He cared nothing for what his mother had said about her being a great heiress.
He loved her for herself alone, and he was rich enough for both.
He would rather have had her remain poor, so that he could have bestowed everything upon her himself.
But, oh, the joy of knowing that she was safe under her mother's roof, safe where he could find her again—it made him dizzy with such a rapture of joy and relief that his face paled with emotion, and his eyes nearly closed, startling Lady Putnam so that she sprang to his side, exclaiming, in alarm:
"You are indeed ill, my dear boy, and I must send for a physician. Please tell me in what way you are affected."
"It is my heart, dear mother!" he groaned, then caught her around the waist, laughing: "Forgive me for alarming you, dearest mother. I am not in the least ill; only overcome with joy at hearing that my darling betrothed is found again."
"Do you really mean it, Leland?" she inquired, dubiously.