The golden-brown hair his hands had once loved to fondle and toy with, seemed now more golden than ever, as it was sprinkled a little with brown marchale, in the fashion of the day; but Dolores, in advance of it, wore her rich hair without any such doubtful accessory, and simply brushed backward over a low toupee that showed the contour of her low, broad, and beautiful forehead.
Twenty years had come and twenty years had gone since he last looked on them, yet in the eyes of Mercedes was the old subtle influence, in her voice the old subtle power; and he felt both so keenly—so intensely—that the thrill which passed through the heart of Kinloch amounted to—if we may use a paradox—a joyous pain!
Memories of the past time, by the Berbice river—memories sweet and sad and thrilling—were coming back with strange and curious force; the past returned, the present fled, and much that both had thought was long since dead, was reawakened within them.
'Mamma!' exclaimed Dolores, with irrepressible impatience and curiosity; 'you know General Kinloch! you have met before!'
'Yes, Dolores darling—my heart certainly tells me so,' replied the Countess, colouring deeply.
'Heart!' said the General; 'madame, the heart is an obsolete organ, in this our eighteenth century.'
'Perhaps it is too late in life to assume you can have any interest in me now; but if you will not, even once, take my hand kindly in yours, I shall think that it is not wounded love, but wounded pride, that inspires you still.'
The Countess spoke sweetly, and with one of her brightest and most caressing smiles.
He pressed her little hand for a moment; it was a mighty advance for the General to do so, but the touch sent a thrill to his heart, and he thought how absurdly young she looked to be the mother of Dolores!
'Good heavens!' that young lady was thinking, 'wonders will never cease.'