Beautiful as an
angel she had pictured her, and with an angel's nature, to be so loved, so
inexpressibly mourned by him. She had dreamed dreams, but had asked no
questions. She asked them now.
"Was she so very beautiful--Lady Forcus?"
Not to say strictly beautiful; which had surprised them all, Francis
having ever been a beauty lover. She had what was called a _dear_ face.
And such manners! Such a dignity! Such an air of high-breeding! "I used to
say to myself, 'Small wonder that Francis is your slave.'"
"And was he?"
"He was, indeed. Bound to her, hand and foot; with no thought but to
please her, no wish but what was hers."
Deleah sighed for very fullness of heart.
"But only because of his love for her, understand. Not because she had him
in the very least under her thumb."
Deleah shook a sympathetic head. "I am sure he could not be that."
"He has never been the same since her death. Never! And never will be
again."
"One would not wish him to be. It would spoil it," Deleah sighed.
Miss Forcus echoed the sigh. "Well, I do not know," she admitted. "People
die, but the world has to go on, Deleah. If the child had lived it would
have been different; but it seems to me a pity there should be no one to
come after Francis, to bear his name, and inherit his fortune.
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