"James Floyd."
But although my mother took up the letter, something seemed to blind her: she could not read it, and put it by and resumed her work. We spent an hour in complete silence.
"We are very dull," she said at last, looking over at me with a little trembling smile. "Have you nothing to tell me, Floyd?"
"Why do you not read your letter, mother?"
"Oh, Floyd!" she cried, "it seems to me you are a little hard and cruel to me of late."
"Read your letter, mother, and mine too. If it is impossible for you to open a letter from Cousin James before me, I will leave the room."
She obeyed me, calmly taking her missive out from its hiding-place, opening it and reading it through: then she handed it to me with her old habit of command: "I wish you to read it, my boy."
I did so: it was just as I had thought. Mr. Floyd loved her: he had spoken of his feelings many times, and was waiting for her answer.
"Poor little Helen!" said my mother tenderly. "I am so thankful she is better! You will like to go to The Headlands, Floyd? 'Tis a beautiful place: your father and I attended Cousin James's wedding there. I remember still how superb and stately the place was."
"I do not feel as if I ever wanted to do anything any more, mother."