“Never mind what he told you. He was mad with jealousy then, and his words must not be remembered. He loves you, I am sure. He always loved you. I tell you this—I who know something of human nature.”
“Oh, if I thought so! Oh, if I thought so!”
“Now, now, now, now, don’t be stagey! Hereward loves you devotedly. I was sure of it when I talked with him of you. It was not only remorse for his cruel suspicions, but sorrow for your loss, that was almost driving him mad!”
“He had but little cause for remorse about his suspicions. The circumstances were so criminating.”
“And your life and character so vindicating.”
“Was it accident that led you to Aunt Sophie’s house?” inquired Lilith at last.
“Yes and no. I will explain. After I had made a short theatrical tour in the Territories I came East and to New York. I was so reckless that I did not care what might become of me. I was on Broadway one day, when I saw your picture in a photographer’s show-case. I did not then connect it with any idea that you were still in the land of the living, but fancied that it was a photograph that might have been taken for your foster-father, the summer before your marriage when you were on your last trip with him.”
“No, it was taken just before I sailed from New York, for Aunt Sophie. She wanted a picture of me, and she took me to a photographer who was a member of her church and for whom one of her lady boarders colored the photographs,” Lilith explained.
“So I learned later. Having no picture of you, my darling, and wishing to possess one, I went in to the artist and asked to buy a copy. He told me that he could not sell one without permission from the customer who had had the photograph taken. I told him that the customer and the original of the picture were both dead. At this he stared and said that he guessed not, unless they had died very recently. And then the artist told me that the pictures had been taken by the order of an old lady friend of his own, and of a young girl boarding in her house then, but now away to Europe. Still I had no suspicion that they represented my living Lilith, but believed the likeness to be an accidental one, though so good that I wished to possess a copy. So I requested the artist to give me the address of the customer for whom they had been taken. He very readily obliged me. I went to Mrs. Downie’s house the same day. Seeing her sign out, I requested the girl who answered my ring to take my card to her mistress. While I was waiting in the parlor I saw your photograph on the mantelpiece. I took it down and examined it minutely, a faint suspicion coming like hope into my heart that it might be yours after all. I turned to the back and read the inscription, ‘To Aunt Sophie, with the love of Lilith,’ or something to that effect. My child, I am not given to wild emotion—off the stage—and yet I was so overcome with joy and fear that I dropped upon a chair, and had some trouble to compose myself before the landlady came in. But in that short space of time I had resolved to take board in the house, if possible, in order to find out all about you. So when Aunt Sophie came in I broached the subject of board and lodging, and the good creature consented to receive me.”
“Yes, she wrote to me about that,” said Lilith.