As we rolled along, I scanned my companion covertly, and saw much to
interest a girl of seventeen. My uncle was a handsome man, with all the
polish of foreign life fresh upon him; yet it was neither comeliness nor
graceful ease which most attracted me; for even my inexperienced eye
caught glimpses of something stern and sombre below these external
charms, and my long scrutiny showed me the keenest eye, the hardest
mouth, the subtlest smile I ever saw,—a face which in repose wore the
look which comes to those who have led lives of pleasure and learned
their emptiness. He seemed intent on some thought that absorbed him, and
for a time rendered him forgetful of my presence, as he sat with folded
arms, fixed eyes, and restless lips. While I looked, my own mind was
full of deeper thought than it had ever been before; for I was
recalling, word for word, a paragraph in that half-read letter:—
“At eighteen Sybil is to marry her cousin, the compact having
been made between my brother and myself in their childhood. My
son is with me now, and I wish them to be together during the
next few months, therefore my niece must leave you sooner than I
at first intended. Oblige me by preparing her for an immediate
and final separation, but leave all disclosures to me, as I
prefer the girl to remain ignorant of the matter for the
present.”
That displeased me. Why was I to remain ignorant of so important an
affair? Then I smiled to myself, remembering that I did know, thanks to
the wilful curiosity that prompted me to steal a peep into the letter
that Madame Bernard had pored over with such an anxious face. I saw only
a single paragraph, for my own name arrested my eye; and, though wild to
read all, I had scarcely time to whisk the paper back into the reticule
the forgetful old soul had left hanging on the arm of her chair. It was
enough, however, to set my girlish brain in a ferment, and keep me
gazing wistfully at my uncle, conscious that my future now lay in his
hands; for I was an orphan and he my guardian, though I had seen him but
seldom since I was confided to madame a six years’ child. Presently my
uncle became cognizant of my steady stare, and returned it with one as
steady for a moment, then said, in a low, smooth tone, that ill accorded
with the satirical smile that touched his lips,—
“I am a dull companion for my little niece. How shall I provide her with
pleasanter amusement than counting my wrinkles or guessing my thoughts?”
I was a frank, fearless creature, quick to feel, speak, and act, so I
answered readily,—
“Tell me about my cousin Guy. Is he as handsome, brave, and clever as
madame says his father was when a boy?”
My uncle laughed a short laugh, touched with scorn, whether for madame,
himself, or me I could not tell, for his countenance was hard to read.
“A girl’s question and artfully put; nevertheless I shall not answer it,
but let you judge for yourself.”
“But, sir, it will amuse me and beguile the way. I feel a little strange
and forlorn at leaving madame, and talking of my new home and friends
will help me to know and love them sooner. Please tell me, for I’ve had
my own way all my life, and can’t bear to be crossed.”
My petulance seemed to amuse him, and I became aware that he was
observing me with a scrutiny as keen as my own had been; but I smilingly
sustained it, for my vanity was pleased by the approbation his eye
betrayed. The evident interest he now took in all I said and did was
sufficient flattery for a young thing, who felt her charms and longed to
try their power.
“I, too, have had my own way all my life; and as the life is double the
length, the will is double the strength of yours, and again I say no.
What next, mademoiselle?”
He was blander than ever as he spoke, but I was piqued, and resolved to
try coaxing, eager to gain my point, lest a too early submission now
should mar my freedom in the future.
“But that is ungallant, uncle, and I still have hopes of a kinder
answer, both because you are too generous to refuse so small a favor to
your ‘little niece,’ and because she can be charmingly wheedlesome when
she likes. Won’t you say yes now, uncle?” and, pleased with the daring
of the thing, I put my arm about his neck, kissed him daintily, and
perched myself upon his knee with most audacious ease.
He regarded me mutely for an instant, then holding me fast deliberately
returned my salute on lips, cheeks, and forehead, with such warmth that
I turned scarlet and struggled to free myself, while he laughed that
mirthless laugh of his till my shame turned to anger, and I imperiously
commanded him to let me go.
“Not yet, young lady. You came here for your own pleasure, but shall
stay for mine, till I tame you as I see you must be tamed. It is a short
process with me, and I possess experience in the work; for Guy, though
by nature as wild as a hawk, has learned to come at my call as meekly as
a dove. Chut! what a little fury it is!”
I was just then; for exasperated at his coolness, and quite beside
myself, I had suddenly stooped and bitten the shapely white hand that
held both my own. I had better have submitted; for slight as the foolish
action was, it had an influence on my after life as many another such
has had. My uncle stopped laughing, his hand tightened its grasp, for a
moment his cold eye glittered and a grim look settled round the mouth,
giving to his whole face a ruthless expression that entirely altered it.
I felt perfectly powerless. All my little arts had failed, and for the
first time I was mastered. Yet only physically; my spirit was rebellious
still. He saw it in the glance that met his own, as I sat erect and
pale, with something more than childish anger. I think it pleased him,
for swiftly as it had come the dark look passed, and quietly, as if we
were the best of friends, he began to relate certain exciting adventures
he had known abroad, lending to the picturesque narration the charm of
that peculiarly melodious voice, which soothed and won me in spite of
myself, holding me intent till I forgot the past; and when he paused I
found that I was leaning confidentially on his shoulder, asking for
more, yet conscious of an instinctive distrust of this man whom I had so
soon learned to fear yet fancy.
As I was recalled to myself, I endeavored to leave him; but he still
detained me, and, with a curious expression, produced a case so quaintly
fashioned that I cried out in admiration, while he selected two
cigarettes, mildly aromatic with the herbs they were composed of, lit
them, offered me one, dropped the window, and leaning back surveyed me
with an air of extreme enjoyment, as I sat meekly puffing and wondering
what prank I should play a part in next. Slowly the narcotic influence
of the herbs diffused itself like a pleasant haze over all my senses;
sleep, the most grateful, fell upon my eyelids, and the last thing I
remember was my uncle’s face dreamily regarding me through a cloud of
fragrant smoke. Twilight wrapped us in its shadows when I woke, with the
night wind blowing on my forehead, the muffled roll of wheels sounding
in my ear, and my cheek pillowed upon my uncle’s arm. He was humming a
French _chanson_ about “Love and Wine, and the Seine to-morrow!” I
listened till I caught the air, and presently joined him, mingling my
girlish treble with his flute-like tenor. He stopped at once, and, in
the coolly courteous tone I had always heard in our few interviews,
asked if I was ready for lights and home.
“Are we there?” I cried; and looking out saw that we were ascending an
avenue which swept up to a pile of buildings that rose tall and dark
against the sky, with here and there a gleam along its gray front.
“Home at last, thank Heaven!” And springing out with the agility of a
young man, my uncle led me over a terrace into a long hall, light and
warm, and odorous with the breath of flowers blossoming here and there
in graceful groups. A civil, middle-aged maid received and took me to my
room, a bijou of a place, which increased my wonder when told that my
uncle had chosen all its decorations and superintended their
arrangement. “He understands women,” I thought, handling the toilet
ornaments, trying luxurious chair and lounge, and ending by slipping my
feet into the scarlet and white Turkish slippers, coquettishly turning
up their toes before the fire. A few moments I gave to examination, and,
having expressed my satisfaction, was asked by my maid if I would be
pleased to dress, as “the master” never allowed dinner to wait for any
one. This recalled to me the fact that I was doubtless to meet my future
husband at that meal, and in a moment every faculty was intent upon
achieving a grand toilette for this first interview. The maid possessed
skill and taste, and I a wardrobe lately embellished with Parisian gifts
from my uncle which I was eager to display in his honor.
When ready, I surveyed myself in the long mirror as I had never done
before, and saw there a little figure, slender, yet stately, in a dress
of foreign fashion, ornamented with lace and carnation ribbons which
enhanced the fairness of neck and arms, while blonde hair, wavy and
golden, was gathered into an antique knot of curls behind, with a
carnation fillet, and below a blooming dark-eyed face, just then radiant
with girlish vanity and eagerness and hope.
“I’m glad I’m pretty!”
“So am I, Sybil.”
I had unconsciously spoken aloud, and the echo came from the doorway
where stood my uncle, carefully dressed, looking comelier and cooler
than ever. The disagreeable smile flitted over his lips as he spoke, and
I started, then stood abashed, till beckoning, he added in his most
courtly manner,—
“You were so absorbed in the contemplation of your charming self, that
Janet answered my tap and took herself away unheard. You are mistress of
my table now: it waits; will you come down?”
With a last touch to that unruly hair of mine, a last, comprehensive
glance and shake, I took the offered arm and rustled down the wide
staircase, feeling that the romance of my life was about to begin. Three
covers were laid, three chairs set, but only two were occupied, for no
Guy appeared. I asked no questions, showed no surprise, but tried to
devour my chagrin with my dinner, and exerted myself to charm my uncle
into the belief that I had forgotten my cousin. It was a failure,
however, for that empty seat had an irresistible fascination for me, and
more than once, as my eye returned from its furtive scrutiny of napkin,
plate, and trio of colored glasses, it met my uncle’s and fell before
his penetrative glance. When I gladly rose to leave him to his wine,—for
he did not ask me to remain,—he also rose, and, as he held the door for
me, he said,—
“You asked me to describe your cousin: you have seen one trait of his
character to-night; does it please you?”
I knew he was as much vexed as I at Guy’s absence, so quoting his own
words I answered saucily,—
“Yes; for I’d rather see the hawk free than coming tamely at your call,
uncle.”
He frowned slightly, as if unused to such liberty of speech, yet bowed
when I swept him a stately little curtsey and sailed away to the
drawing-room, wondering if my uncle was as angry with me as I was with
my cousin. In solitary grandeur I amused myself by strolling through the
suite of handsome rooms henceforth to be my realm, looked at myself in
the long mirrors, as every woman is apt to do when alone and in costume,
danced over the mossy carpets, touched the grand piano, smelt the
flowers, fingered the ornaments on _étagère_ and table, and was just
giving my handkerchief a second drench of some refreshing perfume from a
filigree flask that had captivated me, when the hall door was flung
wide, a quick step went running upstairs, boots tramped overhead,
drawers seemed hastily opened and shut, and a bold, blithe voice broke
out into a hunting song in a tone so like my uncle’s that I
involuntarily flew to the door, crying,—
“Guy is come!”
Fortunately for my dignity, no one heard me, and hurrying back I stood
ready to skim into a chair and assume propriety at a minute’s notice,
conscious, meanwhile, of the new influence which seemed suddenly to gift
the silent house with vitality, and add the one charm it needed,—that of
cheerful companionship. “How will he meet me? and how shall I meet him?”
I thought, looking up at the bright-faced boy, whose portrait looked
back at me with a mirthful light in the painted eyes and a trace of his
father’s disdainful smile in the curves of the firm-set lips. Presently
the quick steps came flying down again, past the door, straight to the
dining-room opposite, and, as I stood listening with a strange flutter
at my heart, I heard an imperious young voice say rapidly,—
“Beg pardon, sir, unavoidably detained. Has she come? Is she bearable?”
“I find her so. Dinner is over, and I can offer you nothing but a glass
of wine.”
My uncle’s voice was frostily polite, making a curious contrast to the
other, so impetuous and frank, as if used to command or win all but one.
“Never mind the dinner! I’m glad to be rid of it; so I’ll drink your
health, father, and then inspect our new ornament.”
“Impertinent boy!” I muttered, yet at the same moment resolved to
deserve his appellation, and immediately grouped myself as effectively
as possible, laughing at my folly as I did so. I possessed a pretty
foot, therefore one little slipper appeared quite naturally below the
last flounce of my dress; a bracelet glittered on my arm as it emerged
from among the lace and carnation knots; that arm supported my head. My
profile was well cut, my eyelashes long, therefore I read with face half
averted from the door. The light showered down, turning my hair to gold;
so I smoothed my curls, retied my snood, and, after a satisfied survey,
composed myself with an absorbed aspect and a quickened pulse to await
the arrival of the gentlemen.
Soon they came. I knew they paused on the threshold, but never stirred
till an irrepressible, “You are right, sir!” escaped the younger. Then I
rose prepared to give him the coldest greeting, yet I did not. I had
almost expected to meet the boyish face and figure of the picture; I
saw, instead, a man comely and tall. A dark moustache half hid the proud
mouth; the vivacious eyes were far kinder, though quite as keen as his
father’s, and the freshness of unspoiled youth lent a charm which the
older man had lost for ever. Guy’s glance of pleased surprise was
flatteringly frank, his smile so cordial, his “Welcome, cousin!” such a
hearty sound, that my coldness melted in a breath, my dignity was all
forgotten, and before I could restrain myself I had offered both hands
with the impulsive exclamation,—
“Cousin Guy, I know I shall be very happy here! Are you glad I have
come?”
“Glad as I am to see the sun after a November fog.”
And, bending his tall head, he kissed my hand in the graceful foreign
fashion he had learned abroad. It pleased me mightily, for it was both
affectionate and respectful. Involuntarily I contrasted it with my
uncle’s manner, and flashed a significant glance at him as I did so. He
understood it, but only nodded with the satirical look I hated, shook
out his paper and began to read. I sat down again, careless of myself
now; and Guy stood on the rug, surveying me with an expression of
surprise that rather nettled my pride.
“He is only a boy, after all; so I need not be daunted by his inches or
his airs. I wonder if he knows I am to be his wife, and likes it.”
The thought sent the color to my forehead, my eyes fell, and despite my
valiant resolution, I sat like any bashful child before my handsome
cousin. Guy laughed a boyish laugh as he sat down on his father’s
footstool, saying, while he warmed his slender brown hands,—
“I beg your pardon, Sybil. (We won’t be formal, will we?) But I haven’t
seen a lady for a month, so I stare like a boor at sight of a silk gown
and high-bred face. Are those people coming, sir?”
“If Sybil likes, ask her.”
“Shall we have a flock of people here to make it gay for you, cousin, or
do you prefer our quiet style better; just riding, driving, lounging,
and enjoying life, each in his own way? Henceforth it is to be as you
command in such matters.”
“Let things go on as they have done, then. I don’t care for society, and
strangers wouldn’t make it gay to me, for I like freedom; so do you, I
think.”
“Ah, don’t I!”
A cloud flitted over his smiling face, and he punched the fire, as if
some vent were necessary for the sudden gust of petulance that knit his
black brows into a frown, and caused his father to tap him on the
shoulder with the bland request, as he rose to leave the room,—
“Bring the portfolios and entertain your cousin; I have letters to
write, and Sybil is too tired to care for music to-night.”
Guy obeyed with a shrug of the shoulder his father touched, but lingered
in the recess till my uncle, having made his apologies to me, had left
the room; then my cousin rejoined me, wearing the same cordial aspect I
first beheld. Some restraint was evidently removed, and his natural self
appeared. A very winsome self it was, courteous, gay, and frank, with an
undertone of deeper feeling than I thought to find. I watched him
covertly, and soon owned to myself that he was all I most admired in the
ideal hero every girl creates in her romantic fancy; for I no longer
looked upon this young man as my cousin, but my lover, and through all
our future intercourse this thought was always uppermost, full of a
charm that never lost its power.
Before the evening ended Guy was kneeling on the rug beside me, our two
heads close together, while he turned the contents of the great
portfolio spread before us, looking each other freely in the face, as I
listened and he described, both breaking into frequent peals of laughter
at some odd adventure or comical mishap in his own travels, suggested by
the pictured scenes before us. Guy was very charming, I my blithest,
sweetest self, and when we parted late, my cousin watched me up the
stairs with still another, “Good-night, Sybil,” as if both sight and
sound were pleasant to him.
“Is that your horse Sultan?” I called from my window next morning, as I
looked down upon my cousin, who was coming up the drive from an early
gallop on the moors.
“Yes, bonny Sybil; come and admire him,” he called back, hat in hand,
and a quick smile rippling over his face.
I went, and, standing on the terrace, caressed the handsome creature,
while Guy said, glancing up at his father’s undrawn curtains,—
“If your saddle had come, we would take a turn before ‘my lord’ is ready
for breakfast. This autumn air is the wine you women need.”
I yearned to go, and when I willed the way soon appeared; so careless of
bonnetless head and cambric gown, I stretched my hands to him, saying
boldly,—
“Play young Lochinvar, Guy; I am little and light; take me up before you
and show me the sea.”
He liked the daring feat, held out his hand, I stepped on his boot toe,
sprang up, and away we went over the wide moor, where the sun shone in a
cloudless heaven, the lark soared singing from the green grass at our
feet, and the September wind blew freshly from the sea. As we paused on
the upland slope, that gave us a free view of the country for miles, Guy
dismounted, and, standing with his arm about the saddle to steady me in
my precarious seat, began to talk.
“Do you like your new home, cousin?”
“More than I can tell you!”
“And my father, Sybil?”
“Both yes and no to that question, Guy; I hardly know him yet.”
“True, but you must not expect to find him as indulgent and fond as many
guardians would be to such as you. It’s not his nature. Yet you can win
his heart by obedience, and soon grow quite at ease with him.”
“Bless you! I’m that already, for I fear no one. Why, I sat on his knee
yesterday and smoked a cigarette of his own offering, though madame
would have fainted if she had seen me; then I slept on his arm an hour,
and he was fatherly kind, though I teased him like a gnat.”
“The deuce he was!” with which energetic expression Guy frowned at the
landscape and harshly checked Sultan’s attempt to browse, while I
wondered what was amiss between father and son, and resolved to
discover; but, finding the conversation at an end, started it afresh, by
asking,—
“Is any of my property in this part of the country, Guy? Do you know I
am as ignorant as a baby about my own affairs; for, as long as every
whim was gratified and my purse full, I left the rest to madame and
uncle, though the first hadn’t a bit of judgment, and the last I
scarcely knew. I never cared to ask questions before, but now I am
intensely curious to know how matters stand.”
“All you see is yours, Sybil,” was the brief answer.
“What, that great house, the lovely gardens, these moors, and the forest
stretching to the sea? I’m glad! I’m glad! But where, then, is your
home, Guy?”
“Nowhere.”
At this I looked so amazed, that his gloom vanished in a laugh, as he
explained, but briefly, as if this subject were no pleasanter than the
first,—
“By your father’s will you were desired to take possession of the old
place at eighteen. You will be that soon; therefore, as your guardian,
my father has prepared things for you, and is to share your home until
you marry.”
“When will that be, I wonder?” and I stole a glance from under my
lashes, wild to discover if Guy knew of the compact and was a willing
party to it. His face was half averted, but over his dark cheek I saw a
deep flush rise, as he answered, stooping to pull a bit of heather,—
“Soon, I hope, or the gentleman sleeping there below will be tempted to
remain a fixture with you on his knee as ‘madame my wife.’ He is not
your own uncle, you know.”
I smiled at the idea, but Guy did not see it; and seized with a whim to
try my skill with the hawk that seemed inclined to peck at its master, I
said demurely,—
“Well, why not? I might be very happy if I learned to love him, as I
should, if he were always in that kindest mood of his. Would you like me
for a little mamma, Guy?”
“No!” short and sharp as a pistol shot.
“Then you must marry and have a home of your own, my son.”
“Don’t, Sybil! I’d rather you didn’t see me in a rage, for I’m not a
pleasant sight, I assure you; and I’m afraid I shall be in one if you go
on. I early lost my mother, but I love her tenderly, because my father
is not much to me, and I know if she had lived I should not be what I
am.”
Bitter was his voice, moody his mien, and all the sunshine gone at once.
I looked down and touched his black hair with a shy caress, feeling both
penitent and pitiful.
“Dear Guy, forgive me if I pained you. I’m a thoughtless creature, but
I’m not malicious, and a word will restrain me if kindly spoken. My home
is always yours, and when my fortune is mine you shall never want, if
you are not too proud to accept help from your own kin. You are a little
proud, aren’t you?”
“As Lucifer, to most people. I think I should not be to you, for you
understand me, Sybil, and with you I hope to grow a better man.”
He turned then, and through the lineaments his father had bequeathed him
I saw a look that must have been his mother’s, for it was womanly,
sweet, and soft, and lent new beauty to the dark eyes, always kind, and
just then very tender. He had checked his words suddenly, like one who
has gone too far, and with that hasty look into my face had bent his own
upon the ground, as if to hide the unwonted feeling that had mastered
him. It lasted but a moment, then his old manner returned, as he said
gayly,—
“There drops your slipper. I’ve been wondering what kept it on. Pretty
thing! They say it is a foot like this that oftenest tramples on men’s
hearts. Are you cruel to your lovers, Sybil?”
“I never had one, for madame guarded me like a dragon, and I led the
life of a nun; but when I do find one I shall try his mettle well before
I give up my liberty.”
“Poets say it is sweet to give up liberty for love, and they ought to
know,” answered Guy, with a sidelong glance.
I liked that little speech, and recollecting the wistful look he had
given me, the significant words that had escaped him, and the variations
of tone and manner constantly succeeding one another, I felt assured
that my cousin was cognizant of the family league, and accepted it, yet,
with the shyness of a young lover, knew not how to woo. This pleased me,
and, quite satisfied with my morning’s work, I mentally resolved to
charm my cousin slowly, and enjoy the romance of a genuine wooing,
without which no woman’s life seems complete,—in her own eyes, at least.
He had gathered me a knot of purple heather, and as he gave it I smiled
my sweetest on him, saying,—
“I commission you to supply me with nosegays, for you have taste, and I
love wild-flowers. I shall wear this at dinner in honor of its giver.
Now take me home; for my moors, though beautiful, are chilly, and I have
no wrapper but this microscopic handkerchief.”
Off went his riding-jacket, and I was half smothered in it. The hat
followed next, and as he sprung up behind I took the reins, and felt a
thrill of delight in sweeping down the slope with that mettlesome
creature tugging at the bit, that strong arm round me, and the happy
hope that the heart I leaned on might yet learn to love me.
The day so began passed pleasantly, spent in roving over house and
grounds with my cousin, setting my possessions in order, and writing to
dear old madame. Twilight found me in my bravest attire, with Guy’s
heather in my hair, listening for his step, and longing to run and meet
him when he came. Punctual to the instant he appeared, and this dinner
was a far different one from that of yesterday, for both father and son
seemed in their gayest and most gallant mood, and I enjoyed the hour
heartily. The world seemed all in tune now, and when I went to the
drawing-room I was moved to play my most stirring marches, sing my
blithest songs, hoping to bring one at least of the gentlemen to join
me. It brought both, and my first glance showed me a curious change in
each. My uncle looked harassed and yet amused, Guy looked sullen and
eyed his father with covert glances.
The morning’s chat flashed into my mind, and I asked myself, “Is Guy
jealous so soon?” It looked a little like it, for he threw himself upon
a couch and lay there silent and morose; while my uncle paced to and
fro, thinking deeply, while apparently listening to the song he bade me
finish. I did so, then followed the whim that now possessed me, for I
wanted to try my power over them both, to see if I could restore that
gentler mood of my uncle’s, and assure myself that Guy cared whether I
was friendliest with him or not.
“Uncle, come and sing with me; I like that voice of yours.”
“Tut, I am too old for that; take this indolent lad instead, his voice
is fresh and young, and will chord well with yours.”
“Do you know that pretty _chanson_ about ‘Love and Wine, and the Seine
to-morrow,’ cousin Guy?” I asked, stealing a sly glance at my uncle.
“Who taught you that?” and Guy eyed me over the top of the couch with an
astonished expression which greatly amused me.
“No one; uncle sang a bit of it in the carriage yesterday. I like the
air, so come and teach me the rest.”
“It is no song for you, Sybil. You choose strange entertainment for a
lady, sir.”
A look of unmistakable contempt was in the son’s eye, of momentary
annoyance in the father’s, yet his voice betrayed none as he answered,
still pacing placidly along the room,—
“I thought she was asleep, and unconsciously began it to beguile a
silent drive. Sing on, Sybil; that Bacchanalian snatch will do you no
harm.”
But I was tired of music now they had come, so I went to him, and,
passing my arm through his, walked beside him, saying with my most
persuasive aspect,—
“Tell me about Paris, uncle; I intend to go there as soon as I’m of age,
if you will let me. Does your guardianship extend beyond that time?”
“Only till you marry.”
“I shall be in no haste, then, for I begin to feel quite homelike and
happy here with you, and shall be content without other society; only
you’ll soon tire of me, and leave me to some dismal governess, while you
and Guy go pleasuring.”
“No fear of that, Sybil; I shall hold you fast till some younger
guardian comes to rob me of my merry ward.”
As he spoke, he took the hand that lay upon his arm into a grasp so
firm, and turned on me a look so keen, that I involuntarily dropped my
eyes lest he should read my secret there. Eager to turn the
conversation, I asked, pointing to a little miniature hanging underneath
the portrait of his son, before which he had paused,—
“Was that Guy’s mother, sir?”
“No, your own.”
I looked again, and saw a face delicate yet spirited, with dark eyes, a
passionate mouth, and a head crowned with hair as plenteous and golden
as my own; but the whole seemed dimmed by age, the ivory was stained,
the glass cracked, and a faded ribbon fastened it. My eyes filled as I
looked, and a strong desire seized me to know what had defaced this
little picture of the mother whom I never knew.
“Tell me about her, uncle; I know so little, and often long for her so
much. Am I like her, sir?”