“Wait right here,” she said, “I will return in an instant,”—and in a very short time Imelda reappeared, carrying a small package in her hand. Before undoing it she laid her hand on his.
“I may call you Osmond, may I not?” The clear eye met hers in a responsive glance; in turn he laid his hand over hers and in a tone which had a hearty ring he replied:
“Certainly! It will afford me the greatest pleasure to have you do so.”
Reseating herself in the chair she had a few moments ago vacated, with deft fingers that were slightly trembling, Imelda undid the cord that bound the package. The next moment Margaret’s sweet face was brought to view. The boy’s hand trembled as he reached for it, and in his face was reflected the emotions that were stirring his young soul. Imelda watched him closely, as for a long time his eyes were riveted on that fair reflection, and when with a fluttering long drawn sigh he laid it aside without comment, she also said nothing, but handed him a second portrait; this time the face reflected being that of Mrs. Leland.
It seemed almost Margaret over again, the resemblance was so great; only where time had touched it; the years having left their trace—but only lightly. The brow was just as smooth as that of the young girl, the eye as clear and sparkling; the hair dark and full. But there was a line about the expressive mouth,—an expression on the face that was not on the younger one, and which only experience could have stamped thereon. It seemed to the boy standing there, holding in his hand the picture of his mother, as if in the eyes gazing at him there was a pleading, yearning look that went straight to his young heart. His sensitive lip quivered and with another sigh he laid this picture also down. He kept his eyes downcast as if he dared not look into those searching dark orbs that were so eagerly fastened upon him. In a little while a woman’s soft hand was laid upon his and——
“Osmond,”—a pleading voice spoke,—“do either of those faces portray aught but purity? Do you think your mother” (laying her hand on the picture), “with a face like that, could be capable of anything but what is good and pure and noble?” His eyes were raised to hers, and they were dim with unshed tears.
“I don’t know. But my brain seems reeling. When I look at the face of the girl you say is my sister a feeling comes to me as though I should be proud to proclaim her as such to the world; while she who is my mother seems to draw my very soul from me. Looking at them both a feeling overcomes me as if I had lost something to which I had a right, but which has been withheld from me. But when I recall all that which my father has told me of bygone years it seems as if they were handsome, glittering, fascinating serpents looking up at me, luring me from my allegiance.” Imelda took both the boy’s hands in hers.
“Look at me,” she said. “In the first place, tell me—do you think I could be guilty of all the cruel, unholy things that have been reported of your mother?”
“Why, no! no! A thousand times no! It would be impossible. One look into your face, into your eyes, would convince me of that.”
“Thank you! but do you think, my young friend, that I could hold one near and dear who is so vile as you have been taught to believe your mother to have been? Now listen: I do not want you to take my word for all that I have told you of these my best friends. Only wait, come here often. Here you can become acquainted with the sentiments that fill your mother’s whole heart and soul, and which find a reflection in every word uttered by your fair young sister. You seem, despite all the prejudices with which your young life has been poisoned, to yet have remained pure in heart. You are brave and truthful. Now from this time forth in justice to your mother, study your father; his modes of life; his sentiments; his every action, and compare it to that which he has told you of the woman who, being the mother of his children, ought to be shielded and protected by him from every breath of scandal; instead of which protection he has blazoned such awful tales about her that it takes almost superhuman courage and bravery on her part to live them down. So I ask you again, in justice to the woman who is your mother, will you henceforth keep your eyes open?”