"How could I? It never
belonged to me. I never saw it in my life until this moment. We cannot
be sure that it is my portrait."
"Look at those eyes and that mouth, and the hair waving over that
brow," she muttered, half in soliloquy, with her gaze still bent upon
the mysterious locket. "Of course it is you, Amey Hampden, and no one
else."
"Well, it is a dark puzzle to me," I said, "and I wish I could explain
it."
Then suddenly remembering the other strange feature of the
circumstance, I turned impulsively to Hortense and observed:
"I did not know that you and Mr. Dalton were friends. I never heard
him mention your name."
"Nor did I know that you and he were friends," she interrupted, a
little incisively, I thought. "I never heard him mention _your_ name."
"That is strange" said I, "for he has known me from my infancy. I have
sat upon Mr. Dalton's knee time and again, listening to his thrilling
anecdotes and telling him my petty confidences."
"Have you?" very indifferently.
"Yes, and that is why I am morally certain this picture can in no way
be associated with me, for there is no reason why Mr. Dalton should
have one and keep it secret. Besides, I ought to know" I argued
warmly, "whether I had ever had such pictures taken, and whether he
had been given one or not."
"Well it is very like you, Amey," Hortense resumed in a more calm and
friendly tone "So much so, that when I saw you for the first time at
Notre Dame Abbey, I recognized you from this.
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