“‘Papa Richard’s and grandma’s,’ he replied, and then there flashed upon me the thought that in spite of his deep blue eyes and soft golden curls he was like Dr. West. For an instant I was conscious of a sharp, stinging pain, as I said to myself, ‘Was Dr. West ever married?’ Surely he would have told of that,—would at some time have mentioned his wife, and with the pain there came the knowledge that I did care more for Dr. West than I had supposed; that I was jealous of the dead woman, the mother of this child. Mrs. West must have divined a part of my thoughts, for she said half laughingly, like one under restraint:
“‘He has always called my son “Papa Richard,” as he is the only father the child ever knew,’ and a shadow flitted across her face as she directed my attention to a tall heliotrope near by. But I was not to be evaded; curiosity was aroused, and replying to her remark concerning the heliotrope, I turned again to Robin, whose little hand I now held in mine, and said, ‘He is your grandchild?’
“Suddenly the dark eyes looked afar off as if appealing to something or somebody for help; then they softened and tears were visible in them.
“‘Poor little Robin, he has been a source of great sorrow as well as of comfort to me, Miss Freeman,’ and Mrs. West’s delicate hand smoothed and unwound the golden curls clustering around Robin’s head. ‘So I used to unwind her curls,’ she continued abstractedly. ‘Robin’s mother. I must show you her picture when we go in. She was very beautiful, more so than any one I ever knew, and Richard thinks the same.’
“Again that keen pain, as of a sharp knife gliding through my flesh, passed over me, but I listened breathlessly, while still caressing the child she continued:
“‘His mother was my adopted daughter: I never had one of my own. Two sons have been born to me; one I have lost,’—and her breath came gaspingly like speaking of the dead,—‘the other you know is Richard. To all intents and purposes Anna was my daughter, and I am sure no mother ever loved her own offspring more than I did Anna. O Anna darling, Anna darling! I never dreamed, when I took her to my bosom, that she could—O Anna!’ and Mrs. West’s voice broke down in a storm of sobs.
“After this I could not ask her any more questions, and in a kind of maze I followed her into the house, which was a perfect little gem, and showed marks of most exquisite taste. Some of the furniture struck me as rather too heavy and expensive for that cottage, but I gave it but little thought, so interested was I in what I had heard and seen.
“‘That is Anna,’ Mrs. West said, pointing to a small portrait hanging upon the wall just where the western sunbeams were falling upon it and lighting it up with a wonderful halo of beauty.
“Instantly I forgot all else in my surprise that anything so perfectly beautiful could ever have belonged to a human being, and with a scream of delight I stood before the picture, exclaiming, ‘It is not possible that this is natural!’
‘It is said to be,’ Mrs. West rejoined, ‘though there is a look in her eye which I did not notice until a few months before she died. She was crazy at the last.’