I saw in you, as plainly as if the
'loved and lost' one her self had stood before me, the image proud and
beautiful, of my first and only love."
"My mother?" I faltered.
"Your mother," he repeated.
"I remember now," I said, with slow, sad emphasis, "that papa looked
strangely at me that night too, and did what he had not done for years
before, he kissed me kindly and tenderly, and muttered something about
my being the 'image of his happy past,' and of his never having seen
'such a likeness before.'"
"It is little wonder, child," Mr. Dalton answered, looking wistfully
into the space between us. "He loved her, too, poor Hampden--every one
did--but I loved her first, and best--yes, I know I loved her best.
How I watched your every look and tone and gesture at this time,
Amey," he exclaimed eagerly, "they were constantly bringing back my
vanished youth, and casting fitful gleams of sunshine across my wintry
track. And you took to me. I could see the reflection of the old
love-light, faint though it was, in the eyes that were only like hers,
and not really hers--yes it was a living pledge of her early love each
time you watched for me, and welcomed me, or singled me out in a
crowded room from all the rest. It was her inheritance, that she left
you, wherewith to gladden the life that Fate had urged her to
darken,--and you did it, my little one, though it could never be quite
the same."
"I loved you, and watched you jealously, God knows I did, but it was
not with that other dead love, which shall never be revived on earth.
Pages:
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318