That Girl in Black; and, Bronzie - Mrs. Molesworth

The words were unnecessary. I stood silent, motionless, spell-bound.

“I—I am only her sister—Imogen Grey,” she went on.

I have asked her since if she thought me mad: she says not; but I feel as if I must have seemed so. For still I could not speak, though certain words seemed dancing like happy fairies across my brain. “Bronzie, my Bronzie! found at last. Bronzie!”

And in another instant good little Bessie Greatrex was in the room, busy introducing me to her sister, “Miss Grey,” and explaining that she had not been sure of Imogen’s arriving in time for dinner—had I heard the wheels just as we went up to dress?

She was a little confused; but it was not till afterwards that I thought of it. In a sort of dream I went in to dinner; in a sort of dream I went through that wonderful evening. They were as unlike as sisters could well be, except for the hair: unlike, and yet alike; for, if there is one woman in this world as good and true as my Bronzie, it is her sister Bessie.

Yes, she was—she is my Bronzie, though no one knows the name, nor the whole story, but our two happy selves.

And I had it out with Bessie; she suspected the truth while I was questioning her about her recollections, and then she saw it must have been Imogen, and not herself: the dragging off poor Greatrex into the conservatory was to tell him to hold his tongue. She wanted so to “surprise” me! I believe, at the bottom of my heart, that Greatrex and she had planned something of the kind even before they heard my unexpected reminiscences; and if they did, there was no harm in it. But—if she hadn’t been my Bronzie, nothing would have been any use; I should have lived and died unmarried.