After a time, Maverick says, "You will be glad to return with me,--glad to embrace again your mother?" "My own, true mother?" said Adele, the blood running now swift over cheek and brow. "Your own, Adele,--your own! As God is true!" Adele grows calm,--an unwonted calmness. "Tell me how she looks, papa," said she. "Your figure, Adele; not so tall, perhaps, but slight like you; and her hair,--you have her hair, darling (and he kissed it). Your eye too, for color, with a slight, hardly noticeable cast in it." And as Adele turned an inquiring glance upon him, he exclaimed: "You have that too, my darling, as you look at me now." Adele, still calm, says: "I know it, papa; I have seen her. Do not deceive me. She died in these arms, papa!"--and with that her calmness is gone. She can only weep upon his shoulder. "But, Adele, child, this cannot be; do not trust to so wild a fancy. You surely believe me, darling!" Had she argued the matter, he would have been better satisfied. She did not, however. Her old tranquillity came again. "I will go with you, papa, cheerfully," said she. It was only too evident to Maverick that there was a cause of distrust between them. Under all of Adele's earnest demonstrations of affection, which were intensely grateful to him, there was still a certain apparent reserve of confidence, as if some great inward leaning of her heart found no support in him or his. This touched him to the quick. The Doctor--had he unfolded the matter to him fully--would have called it, may be, the sting of retribution. Nor was Maverick at all certain that the shadowy doubt which seemed to rest upon the mind of Adele with respect to the identity of her mother was the sole cause of this secret reserve of confidence. It might be, he thought, that her affections were otherwise engaged, and that the change to which she assented with so little fervor would be at the cost of other ties to which he was a stranger. On this score he consulted with the Doctor. As regarded Reuben, there could be no doubt. Whatever tie may have existed there was long since broken. With respect to Phil Elderkin the parson was not so certain. Maverick had been attracted by his fine, frank manner, and was not blind to his capital business capacities and prospects. If the happiness of Adele were in question, he could entertain the affair. He even ventured to approach the topic--coyly as he could--in a talk with Adele; and she, as the first glimmer of his meaning dawned upon her, says, "Don't whisper it, papa. It can never be."