I was, indeed, all unprepared for what awaited me here at the Cedars. My
heart had been torn by all manner of anxieties and concern. I had hastened
forward, convinced that my aid and protection were direly needed. I sat
now, almost embarrassed, digesting the fact that the fortunes of the
Cedars were in sufficient and capable hands.

Mr. Stewart's condition was in truth sad enough. He had greeted me with
such cordiality and clear-wittedness of utterance and manner that at first
I fancied his misfortunes to have been exaggerated in my mother's letter.
His conversation for a moment or two was also coherent and timely. But his
mind was prone to wander mysteriously. He presently said: "Assuredly I
taught you to shave with both hands. I knew I could not be mistaken." I
stole a glance toward Daisy at this, and her answering nod showed me the
whole case. It was after old Eli had come in and wheeled Mr. Stewart in
his big chair out into the garden, that I spoke to Daisy of the
differences time had wrought.

"Ay," she said, "it must be sadly apparent to you--the change in
everything."

How should I approach the subject--the one thing of which I knew we were
both thinking? There seemed a wall between us. She had been unaffectedly
glad to see me; had, for the instant, I fancied, thought to offer me her
cheek to kiss--yet was, with it all, so self-possessed and reserved that I
shrank from touching upon her trouble.

"Perhaps not everything is sad," I made answer, falteringly. "Poor Mr.
Stewart--that is indeed mournful; but, on the other hand--" I broke
off abruptly.