Why, Mary,
I hang on every word you say with breathless interest."
"Dear Mr. Hope! Well, then, I will tell you. Sometimes in the silent
night, when the present does not glare at one, the past comes back to me
dimly, and I seem to have lived two lives: one long, one short--too
short. My long life in a comfortable house, with servants and carriages
and all that. My short life in different places; not comfortable places,
but large places; all was free and open, and there was always a kind
voice in my ear--like yours; and a tender touch--like yours."
Hope was restraining himself with difficulty, and here he could not help
uttering a faint exclamation.
To cover it he took her wrist again, and bending his head over it, he
said, almost in a whisper, "And the face?"
Mary's eyes turned inward, and she seemed to scan the past.
"The face?" said she--"the face I can not recall. But one thing I do
remember clearly. This is not the first time my wrist--yes--and it was my
right wrist too--has been bound up so tenderly.
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