"Will it help you in your search for my child," she said, at length,
"if I tell you all I know?"
"It may help me. I cannot venture to say more than that, my lady."
"If there is even a chance, I must speak," replied Honoria. "I will
tell you, then," she said, throwing herself into a chair, and fixing
her grave, earnest eyes upon the face of her companion. "In order to
tell you what I know of Black Milsom, I must go back to the days of my
childhood. My first memories are bright ones; but they are so vague, so
shadowy, that it is with difficulty I can distinguish realities from
dreams; and yet I believe the things which I remember _must_ have been
real. I have a faint recollection of a darkly beautiful face, that bent
over me as I lay in some bed or cradle, softer and more luxurious than
any bed I ever slept in for many years after that time. I remember a
soft, sweet voice, that sang me to sleep. I remember that in the place
I called home everything was beautiful."
"And do you not even know where this home was?"
"I know nothing of its locality. I was too young to remember the names
of persons or places. But I have often fancied it was in Italy."
"In Italy!"
"Yes; for the first home which I really remember was a fisherman's hut,
in a little village within a few miles of Naples. I was the only child
in that miserable hovel--lonely, desolate, miserable, in the power of
two wretches, whose presence filled me with loathing.
Pages:
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677