subject is mentioned between them, and yet--and yet, knowing my
interesting nephew as you do, wouldn't you think that was about the way
to put it?"

"Knowing him as I do-yes," said Eugene slowly. "Yes, I should think that
was about the way to put it."

A murmur out of the shadows beyond him--a faint sound, musical and
feminine, yet expressive of a notable intensity--seemed to indicate that
Lucy was of the same opinion.

Chapter XXIX

"Let her" was correct; but the time came--and it came in the spring of
the next year when it was no longer a question of George's letting his
mother come home. He had to bring her, and to bring her quickly if she
was to see her father again; and Amberson had been right: her danger of
never seeing him again lay not in the Major's feebleness of heart but in
her own. As it was, George telegraphed his uncle to have a wheeled chair
at the station, for the journey had been disasterous, and to this hybrid
vehicle, placed close to the platform, her son carried her in his arms
when she arrived. She was unable to speak, but patted her brother's and
Fanny's hands and looked "very sweet," Fanny found the desperate courage
to tell her. She was lifted from the chair into a carriage, and seemed
a little stronger as they drove home; for once she took her hand from
George's, and waved it feebly toward the carriage window.

"Changed," she whispered. "So changed."

"You mean the town," Amberson said. "You mean the old place is changed,
don't you, dear?"

She smiled and moved her lips: "Yes."

"It'll change to a happier place, old dear," he said, "now that you're
back in it, and going to get well again."

But she only looked at him wistfully, her eyes a little frightened.

When the carriage stopped, her son carried her into the house, and up
the stairs to her own room, where a nurse was waiting; and he came out
a moment later, as the doctor went in. At the end of the hall a stricken
group was clustered: Amberson, and Fanny, and the Major. George, deathly
pale and speechless, took his grandfather's hand, but the old gentleman
did not seem to notice his action.

"When are they going to let me see my daughter?" he asked querulously.
"They told me to keep out of the way while they carried her in, because
it might upset her. I wish they'd let me go in and speak to my daughter.
I think she wants to see me."

He was right--presently the doctor came out and beckoned to him; and the
Major shuf