"Ah, he!" was the bitter ejaculation.
"Or if she," I proceeded, "were bound by no ties appealing to the sympathies! But she is a mother—"
"Good God!"
I had not thought it would affect him so, and stood appalled.
"A mother!" he repeated; "she! she! the tigress, the heartless one, with no more soul than the naked dagger I should have plunged into her breast and did not! Great Heaven! and this child has lived, I suppose; is grown up and—and—"
"Is the sweetest, purest, most unworldly of beautiful women that these eyes have ever rested upon."
I thought he would spring upon me, he leaned forward with so much impetuosity.
"How do you know?" he asked, and my heart stood still at the question.
"Because I have seen her," I presently rejoined. "Because I have had opportunities for studying her heart. She is called Honora, and she is like Miss Dudleigh, only more beautiful and with more claims to what is called character."
He did not seem to take in my words.