“Will you ask your sister to come to me, my dear, I would speak with her a moment?” said Lelland, laying his hand tenderly on her head.
Margaret returned to her sister, who, in a few moments, timid and blushing, drew near. She seemed about fourteen, of a slight, graceful figure, and with the same expression of countenance, only more thoughtful, as her younger sister.
“You will excuse the presumption of a stranger, young lady,” said Lelland, “but unless I greatly err, I see before me the daughter of a much loved friend. Tell me, was not your mother’s maiden name Margaret Gardner?”
“Yes, sir, that was her name,” she replied in evident surprise.
“I knew I could not be mistaken,” continued Lelland, sighing deeply—then after a pause—“and your—your father—is he with you?”
“He is not—but will meet us on our arrival in New York.”
“Has your mother been long ill?” inquired Lelland, his voice faltering as he spoke.
“She has been declining for several years,” replied the young girl, “but for the last six months her strength has rapidly failed. O, my dear sir,” she added, bursting into tears, “if she should die!”
Lelland could not answer—at length he resumed.
“And are you then traveling alone, my dear young lady?”