"
"Poor Hortense," I muttered in a half sob.--"He is my guardian, my
god-father, and the picture in his locket is not mine at all, it is my
mother's."
"Amey! Your mother's?"
"Yes, he loved her years ago before she married my father. There was
some misunderstanding between them and they drifted apart, but he has
always been faithful to her memory up to this. They say I am very like
her," I added slowly, folding my hands and looking away towards the
distant gray clouds outside.
"Her living image," said Hortense, wistfully, "if I may judge by that
little picture, but you--didn't you love him too, Amey?" she asked
with an eager look, stroking my hand gently with her own delicate
palm.
"It is a time for confessions, Hortense," I answered timidly, "or I
should never tell you this, however, we may as well be frank with one
another now. I thought I did, until I had reason to suspect that you
loved him also, from that moment I resigned him to you and refused to
think of him ever again, except as an old, esteemed and devoted
friend. I did not know at that time that he had ever known my mother,
nor did I suspect the existence of the close ties that bind us to one
another in a different way. I only knew that in encouraging my regard
for him, I might be trespassing upon the peace and happiness of your
life and that is something that Amey Hampden never would or could do
to Hortense de Beaumont above all other living creatures.
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