Yet her heart leaped to meet him in a great, strangling sob of joy. Without rising from her recumbent position she held out her hand, saying faintly: “You will pardon my not rising. I have been ill--am yet weak.” He advanced, and touched the cold hand with his own that was quite as cold--dropped it quickly, and took the seat she indicated close by her divan. Controlling his emotions as well as he could, he began: “Your letter filled me with alarm. What can have happened to my daughter?” “Our daughter,” she said, gently correcting him, with a sad smile, adding: “It was very bold in me to send for you, Leon, but I thought that in this matter we might act together.” “Leon”--she called him Leon as of old--and it made the blood rush to his face, and his whole frame tremble with agitation, the old love rising in him like a flood. He answered gravely: “This is very kind in you.” And for a moment they were very silent, the novelty of the position bearing painfully on both their hearts--“so near and yet so far.” Little by little they gained self-possession and talked seriously on the subject so near to their hearts--the mysterious disappearance of their daughter from the hour when she had been turned away from her mother’s house by Cora. She told him all she knew, and he could not conceal his alarm. “It is the strangest thing in the world that she did not return to Mrs. Doyle, the only friend she had in New York!” he exclaimed. The tortured mother bowed her head and wept. Then Leon Dalrymple’s heart was melted with sympathy, and he cried: “Do not weep so bitterly, Verna, I will find her for you if it is in the power of man to do it. And--and--I will never try to take her from you again. Let my heart bear all the pangs of loss and loneliness!” “You have not told me yet how you brought Darling to life!” she suggested, with a grateful glance. Then he had to go over the whole story, and she listened with the closest attention. Their interview had now lasted more than an hour, and the ice between them was gradually thawing. The dark and the blue eyes looked very kindly at each other, and they were Leon and Verna again in their speech. She opened the letter, and said daringly, encouraged by his kindness: “I am very curious over some things you said in this letter to Darling. It seems you sent me some messages of remorse, forgiveness, and love when you thought you were about to perish. Will you tell me what they were?” His face flushed with emotion, but he faltered nervously: “They would not be welcome to you, Verna.” To his delight she replied, with swimming eyes. “My heart has been hungry for such words these eighteen years, Leon--hungry for the love that I threw away in my blindness--hungry for forgiveness that I dared not ask because I feared denial!” “My darling!” and he was on his knees by her side, his arms opening to draw her back to her old shelter against his heart.