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Freddy saw me first and cried out impulsively. "Here she is!" Mr. Dalton turned quickly around and hurried towards me. "What is the news?" I asked, studying both their faces. "Is he dead?" "No Amey," Mr. Dalton answered with a voice of deep sympathy, "it is not so bad as that, though he is very ill indeed!" "Thank God!" I muttered, "I shall see him and speak to him then after all."
Hortense was sitting beside me still, pouring out a volley of impulsive praise upon what I had just shown her, and as I raised the lid of my trunk, with the privilege of an intimate friend she leaned over and peeped curiously in. "What is in that red case there Amey?" she asked half timidly, then looking apologetically into my face added: "You see my curiosity is not satisfied yet."
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.
I saw the half-mischievous smile vanish from the corners of his eyes and mouth; my lips were trembling with a suppressed sorrow. He saw it, and bending over me asked in a tender, solicitous voice: "What is the matter, little Amey? Are you ill? Come, tell me" he urged, with a gentle firmness turning me around and taking both my hands in his own large ones. "No, no, Mr.
"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.
My lips were parched, and dry, and feverish, my temples throbbed with a dull oppressive pain, and my heart was very heavy. I heaved a deep unsuppressed sigh which died away into a plaintive moan. My lids closed wearily and two large hot tears fell upon the smooth white linen table-cloth. "Amey, my poor child," said someone, laying a heavy hand upon one of my shoulders.
He had worn a half amused, half sympathetic look all along, as if my little troubles were something he could afford to smile upon, and persuade even myself to laugh at, but I fancy my voice must have been unusually sorrowful, as I am sure my face was unusually tear-stained and disfigured, for he drew me to him a little closer and toying ever so affectionately and kindly with my flowing hair, his tone was gently remonstrative as he said: "Amey, do you know that you use very wicked words when you talk like this?
I hardly knew what to say next, but feeling that it was urgent upon me to speak in some way, I asked in a subdued tone, with my eyes still lowered upon my folded hands, "How do you know I loved Ernest Dalton?" He laughed, not gaily, nor carelessly, and taking a stride across the room, turned and said, "It is enough, that I know it, Amey.
"Good-bye Amey, and may God bless and comfort you!" she said reverently, with both hands clasped about my neck, "and remember," she added, kissing away my fast falling tears, "if ever you have need of a friend to love you, or serve you, or comfort you, you must come to me, will you not Amey? tell me you will."
He held out both hands over its curved back saying: "Amey, is it you?" There was a strange look as of a misty uncertain pleasure in his eyes. I gave him my small hands, for they were small when he had gathered them into his, and we looked at one another in silence for a few moments. "Come here and sit down beside me little one," he said in his old affectionate way.
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