Part 80 (1/2)
”And yet I know, past all doubting, truly,-- A knowledge greater than grief can dim-- I know, as he loved, he will love me duly, Yea better, e'en better than I love him.
And as I walk by the vast calm river, The awful river so dread to see, I say 'Thy breadth and thy depth for ever-- Are bridged by his thoughts that cross to me.'”
”Regina, do you interpret that the River of Death?”
She pointed to the jewels on her hand, and the blue eyes cold as steel met his.
”Only the river of death could have 'divided' Dougla.s.s and me.”
A frown overshadowed his ma.s.sive brow, but he merely added composedly:
”I did not suspect until to-night that you were endowed with your mother's histrionic talent. Some day you will rival her as an actress, and at least I may venture to congratulate you upon the fact that she will scarcely be disappointed in your dramatic skill.”
For nearly a moment, neither spoke.
”Mr. Palma, you have no objection, I hope, to my carrying mother's portrait with me?”
”It is undeniably your property, but since you will so soon possess the original, I would suggest the propriety of leaving the picture where it is, until your mother decides where she will reside.”
”I understood that you had sold this house, and feared that in the removal it might be injured.”
”It will be carefully preserved with my own pictures, and if your mother wishes it forwarded I will comply with her instructions. All the business details of your voyage I have arranged with Mrs. Palma and Mr. Chesley; and you have only to pack your trunks and bid adieu to such friends as you may deem worthy of a farewell visit. Have you a copy of Jean Ingelow?”
”No, sir.”
”Then oblige me by accepting mine. I have no time for poetry.”
He took the book to his desk, wrote upon the fly leaf: ”Lily, March the 10th;” then marked ”Divided,” and returning to the table held the volume toward her.
”Thank you, but indeed, sir, I do not wish to accept it. I much prefer that you should retain it.”
He inclined his head, and replaced the book on the marble slab. She rose, and he saw the colour slowly ebbing from her lips.
”Mr. Palma, I hope you will not deny me one great favour. I cannot leave my dog; I must have my Hero.”
”Indeed! I thought you had quite forgotten his existence. You have ceased to manifest any interest in him.”
”Yes, to manifest, but not to feel. You took him from me, and I was unwilling to annoy you with useless pet.i.tions and complaints. You a.s.sured me he was well cared for, and that I need not expect to have him while I remained here; now I am going away for ever, I want him.
You gave him to me once; he is mine; and you have no right to withhold him any longer.”
”Circ.u.mstances have materially altered. When you were a little girl I sent you a dog to romp with. Now you are a young lady preparing for European conquests, and having had his day, Hero must retire to the rustic shade of your childhood.”
”Years have not changed my feeling for all that I love.”
”Are you sure, Lily, that you have not changed since you came to live in New York?”
”Not in my attachment to all that brightened my childhood, and Hero is closely linked with the dear happy time I spent at the parsonage.
Mr. Palma, I want him.”
Her guardian smiled, and played with his watch chain.