“This is not—not she?”
Lorrimer stooped gently down to the little figure and lifted her to her feet. She raised her face, and for a moment these two whose lives were so strangely connected looked into each other’s faces. The father could not speak for some time, so intense were the emotions that assailed him. When he did find his voice, it was broken and trembling.
“My—my dear little daughter!” he said.
Then he bent and kissed her. She stood still, almost stonily, under his caress, but she did not return his embrace. She quietly withdrew her hands from his.
“It is unnatural—horrible,” said Mrs. Lorrimer, beneath her breath. Low as was her voice, it broke the spell of silence, which rested like a pall in the room. Lorrimer turned to her quietly.
“And this,” he said to Hyacinth, “is your—your mother.”
She turned her eyes slowly upon the woman, and looked at her steadily. Then she said, in clear English:
“You make mistake. My mother is dead.”
Again an embarrassed silence and constraint fell upon them all. This time it was Aoi who broke it. She turned her head from them as she spoke.
“Little one, it is your duty to accept the Engleesh lady as your mother.”