Mrs. Little felt as mothers feel toward those who wound their young.
“Is it the woman's likeness?” said she bitterly, and then trembled with emotion.
“Ay.”
“May I see it?”
“Surely, ma'am.” And Jael began to undo the paper.
But Mrs. Little stopped her. “No, not yet. I couldn't bear the sight of a face that has brought misery upon him. I would rather look at yours. It is a very honest one. May I inquire your name?”
“Jael Dence—at your service.”
“Dence! ah, then no wonder you have a good face: a Cairnhope face. My child, you remind me of days gone by. Come and see me again, will you? Then I shall be more able to talk to you quietly.”
“Ay, that I will, ma'am.” And Jael colored all over with surprise, and such undisguised pleasure that Mrs. Little kissed her at parting.
She had been gone a considerable time, when Henry came back; he found his mother seated at the table, eying his masterpiece with stern and bitter scrutiny.