AMELIA. [Dressed as a scrub-woman] Before my mother left, she ordered me to clean the hallway and the stairs. It is winter now, and cold, and I cannot say that it has been any pleasure to carry out her order——
NEIGHBOUR. So you didn't get any pleasure out of it? Well, my child, I must say that you demand rather too much of yourself. But as you have obeyed, and stood the test, your time of trial shall be over, and I will let you know your life's secret.
AMELIA. Speak out, neighbour, for I dare hardly trust my good resolutions much longer.
NEIGHBOUR. Well, then! The woman you have been calling mother is your stepmother. Your father married her when you were only one year old. And the reason you have never seen your mother is that she died when you were born.
AMELIA. So that was it!—How strange to have had a mother and yet never to have seen her! Tell me—did you ever see her?
NEIGHBOUR. I knew her.
AMELIA. How did she look?
NEIGHBOUR. Well, how did, she look?—Her eyes were blue as the blossom of the flax—her hair was yellow as the dry stalks of wheat——
AMELIA. And tall and slender—and her hand was small and white as if it had touched nothing but silk in all her days—and her mouth was shaped like a heart, and her lips looked as if none but good words had ever passed them.
NEIGHBOUR. How can you know all that?