"
He interrupted his earnest gaze into her face, with the exclamation--
"And who can yo be to know Mary Barton, or to know that she's aught
to me?"
There was a little strife in Esther's mind for an instant, between
the shame of acknowledging herself, and the additional weight to her
revelation which such acknowledgment would give. Then she spoke--
"Do you remember Esther, the sister of John Barton's wife? the aunt
to Mary? And the valentine I sent you last February ten years?"
"Yes, I mind her well! But yo are not Esther, are you?" He looked
again into her face, and seeing that indeed it was his boyhood's
friend, he took her hand, and shook it with a cordiality that forgot
the present in the past.
"Why, Esther! Where han ye been this many a year? Where han ye
been wandering that we none of us could find you out?"
The question was asked thoughtlessly, but answered with fierce
earnestness.
"Where have I been? What have I been doing? Why do you torment me
with questions like these? Can you not guess? But the story of my
life is wanted to give force to my speech, afterwards I will tell it
you.
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