Mrs. Bertrand advanced, her face covered with her veil.
“Captain Wilkinson,” she said, “your partial restoration renders unnecessary any further attendance on my part. You will probably leave to-morrow, and as I shall remove Amelia immediately to my own house, I have thought this a good opportunity to take my leave of you. I know you feel thankful to Amelia—I believe you are grateful to Heaven. I carry with me the happy reflection, that you will soon be restored to entire health, and that your moral condition is by the mercy of God infinitely improved.”
“Am I not to be allowed to pay my respects to you—not again to say farewell to my beloved nurse, Amelia?”
“We part now—part forever, sir—part with my prayers for your good—with my —”
Mrs. Bertrand fainted from excessive agitation, the unbroken arm of Captain Wilkinson prevented her from falling, and Amelia rose with pain from the chair to remove the veil from the face of her mother, and admit the fresh wind from the bay to her face. When she recovered she looked up into the face of the captain; for a moment he seemed to stagger under the weight that rested upon him.
“Amelia, what is this—what does this mean? Whom do I hold on my arm?”
“It is your Amelia,” said the girl—“Amelia Benton.”
Mrs. Bertrand was placed in the chair which the captain had occupied, while he kneeling at her side, and Amelia rested her hand upon her mother’s knees.
“It is Amelia Benton!” cried the captain—“but who are you?”
“I am her daughter.”