He was,
moreover, a favorite of your poor father's and his friend to the end,"
she added with a tremulous voice, "and your poor father often spoke of
you being married to Arthur Campbell," she continued, persuasively, "I
heard him say it time and again."
"My father said this, you are sure," I exclaimed, looking eagerly into
her face.
"He did indeed, I remember well having heard him," she answered with
deep emphasis.
"But, my father did not know," I began in a low murmur, looking
wistfully out at the yellow leaves and fleeting clouds. I stopped
suddenly, remembering that I was not alone. Before either of us could
speak again Hannah appeared in the doorway with the afternoon mail
between her hands.
This interrupted our _tete-a-tete_. My step-mother took the bundle of
letters, from which she handed me three, and went away to share the
contents of her own with her sympathetic relatives below. Two of mine
were familiar to me; one bearing an English post-mark was from Alice
Merivale, the other was Hortense's dear writing.
I tore them open and, resuming my seat, read them leisurely. How
different they were in every respect! One the effusion of a worldly,
artful, diplomatic beauty, the other an earnest interpretation of the
loving, ardent sentiments of a whole-souled emotional child woman.
Alice had not yet heard of my father's death, and her closely-written
pages told tales of fashionable pleasures and distractions of every
sort.
Pages:
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227