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Chapter XVIII
IguessI’lltellyouwhyIcame.”
Shelaiddownthepaper,andtouchedtheportrait.
“Whenyouwereonlyaboy,didpeoplecallyouFreckles?”sheasked.
“DozensofgoodfellowsalloverIrelandandtheContinentaredoingittoday,”answeredLordO’More.
TheAngel’sfaceworehermostbeautifulsmile.
“Iwassureofit,”shesaidwinningly.“That’swhatwecallhim,andheissolikeyou,Idoubtifanyoneofthosethreeboysofyoursaremoreso.Butit’sbeentwentyyears.Seemstomeyou’vebeenalongtimecoming!”
LordO’MorecaughttheAngel’swristsandhiswifeslippedherarmsaroundher.
“Steady,mygirl!”saidtheman’svoicehoarsely.“Don’tmakemethinkyou’vebroughtwordoftheboyatthislasthour,unlessyouknowsurely.”
“It’sallright,”saidtheAngel.“Wehavehim,andthere’snochanceofamistake.IfIhadn’tgonetothatHomeforhislittleclothes,andheardofyouandbeenhuntingyou,andhadmetyouonthestreet,oranywhere,Iwouldhavestoppedyouandaskedyouwhoyouwere,justbecauseyouaresolikehim.It’sallright.IcantellyouwhereFrecklesis;butwhetheryoudeservetoknow—that’sanothermatter!”
LordO’Moredidnothearher.Hedroppedinhischair,andcoveringhisface,burstintothoseterriblesobsthatshakeandrendastrongman.LadyO’Morehoveredoverhim,weeping.
“Umph!LooksprettyfairforFreckles,”mutteredtheAngel.“Lotsofthingscanbeexplained;nowperhapstheycanexplainthis
