It was nearly dark there, and the fire was smouldering quietly among
the gathering ashes, there was a lounge drawn up before it, on which
my 'other' Amey lay sleeping. My coming in did not disturb her; she
never moved, one hand was thrown carelessly over her shapely head, the
other hung down beside her, a rich red glow was on each pretty cheek
and the shadow of a smile upon the lips so like those silent sealed
ones that twenty odd years before had spoken their love into my
listening ear.

"I looked down upon her, scarcely daring to breathe, lest the spell be
broken. We were alone in the room--we two, and it was a day pregnant
with stirring remembrances for me. Even supposing the spirit of my
loved and lost one kept guard beside her sleeping child, would she
check the honest impulse that seized me at that moment? Would she
cover the unconscious lips, that in deepest reverence and most
hallowed and respectful love I stooped and kissed? Would she,
Amey--tell me do you think she would?" he pleaded, with a wistful
sadness.

"I don't think so, Mr. Dalton," I replied in solemn earnest. "If things
had been otherwise, no one would have had a better right to do so than
you. Even as it is, your faithful, I may say religious, love for my
poor angel-mother recommends you before all others to my everlasting
esteem and affection. Besides--" I added a little playfully--"I am your
god-child, you know!"

"I have not forgotten it, bless you '" he answered. "You have her
spirit in you," he then muttered, as if in soliloquy, and then went on
to say--