He noticed now a name engraven on the
gold case, and bent lower to decipher it.
"Was her name Naida? It is an uncommon word."
"Yes."
"And yours also?"
"Yes."
Their eyes met, and those of both had perceptibly softened.
"Naida," his lips dwelt upon the peculiar name as though he loved the
sound. "I want you to listen to me, child. I sincerely wish I might
keep you here with me, but I can't. You are more to me than you dream,
but it would not be right for me thus deliberately to sacrifice your
whole future to my pleasure. I possess nothing to offer you,--no home,
no friends, no reputation. Practically I am an outlaw, existing by my
wits, disreputable in the eyes of those who are worthy to live in the
world. She, who was your mother, would never wish you to remain with
me. She would say I did right in giving you up into the care of a good
woman. Naida, look on that face in the locket, your mother's face. It
is sweet, pure, beautiful, the face of a good, true woman. Living or
dead, it must be the prayer of those lips that you become a good woman
also. She should lead you, not I, for I am unworthy.
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