His devotion to his god-daughter, Pearl Nicholson, was profound. And to her alone was he ever known to mention the name of his dead love. Many were the talks that this strange pair, the elderly, saddened man and the innocent child, held on this subject. But to the last, to no other person, not even to Rosina or to Amy, did Stanislas de Güldenfeldt ever refer directly to that unforgotten page that influenced every thought and action of his life.
This sweet confidence between the man and child had arisen in this way.
Seven or eight years after Pearl's death, while the Nicholsons were paying their annual visit to Lynlath, Stanislas entered one day, somewhat unexpectedly, into his library. There, in front of a full length and most successful portrait of Mrs. Nugent, painted after her death from photographs and description, was standing, with uplifted head and sorrowful visage--his little god-daughter. The child's hands were clasped behind her back, and the same gleam of sun that lit up the sweet, lovely face of the portrait fell across the golden locks of the little girl, as she turned towards Stanislas with tears streaming down her cheeks.
"You have, godpapa," she said, "so many pictures of this beautiful lady with the large grey eyes. What lovely hair she has! But what a sad, sad face! I feel I love her so, and often and often I come in here and look at her, and she seems to talk to me. Tell me about her, godpapa. Did you love her too?"
And Stanislas de Güldenfeldt took Pearl's namesake on his knee, and with sad eyes gazing back far into the past he told her of his eternal love.
Printed by Holland Rowbottom, "Graphic" Office, Bournemouth.
Transcriber Notes:
Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.
The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up paragraphs and so that they are next to the text they illustrate.