Meantime, with spectacles adjusted, the old lady with gentle fingers turned over the leaves of the antiquated album, now yellowed with its half century of age.
“There, Alice,” she at last exclaimed, “there is my likeness, and really, dear, it is as like you as it can be, or else my old eyes are deceiving me.”
“Oh, grannie, it is a beauty—like me, is it? Ah! you are flattering me, and yet, really, truly, I almost seem to be gazing at myself when I look at it. I hope, dearest, I shall be as beautiful as you are when I am old; but I think only a good life can make a handsome old age.”
By way of reply the other stroked the beautiful dark brown hair which frowned over the fair Grecian features, and murmured, “You will always be beautiful, my darling; God has given you not only a beautiful face, but a beautiful and unselfish disposition to match it.”
“Oh, grandma! is that splendid-looking Indian Tallahassee?” inquired Alice, pointing to a well-executed etching of an Indian chief, evidently of the Seminole tribe, from the turbaned head and long-waving locks.
“Yes, dear, that is our noble friend, Tallahassee.”
Long the young wife’s eyes gazed on the spirited etching, which revealed an Indian warrior or buck in his youthful prime, his luminous eyes and handsome aquiline features dignified with all the Seminole pride of race, but wearing, as well, a certain refinement of expression rarely seen except in very highly civilized society.
But it is very doubtful if the young wife’s attention was riveted on the Indian’s likeness, for when she raised her head, there was an air of troubled perplexity visible on her face which the inspection of the portrait could not account for. Was she thinking of her ill-starred brother?
“What you must have suffered, dear grannie. I wonder you could ever bear to hear the name of Florida again.”
“No, dear, I have none of that feeling. Some of the happiest moments of my life were spent there, and I am hopeful that I may visit it once again, now that it is so easy of access.