I had given her up, and have
regarded her as dead for more than ten years. But, Grace, get my
things, and I will go to her at once."
"Is that your portrait, ma'am?" asked Katy, pointing to the
picture of the mischievous lady.
"No, child; that is your mother's portrait."
"I almost knew it."
"It was taken when she was only sixteen years old. She was a gay,
wild girl then. I suppose she is sadly changed now."
The thought completely overcame Mrs. Gordon, and throwing herself
upon a sofa, she wept like a child. She thought of her sister
suffering from poverty and want, while she had been rolling in
opulence and plenty. Grace tried to comfort her, but it was some
time before she was in a condition to enter the carriage which
was waiting at the door.
"What an adventure, mother!" exclaimed Grace, as she seated
herself by the side of Katy; and it was evident she had a vein of
the romantic in her composition.
"Do not talk to me, Grace. My heart is too full for words."
"But I may talk to Katy--may I not?"
"Yes."
"Well, cousin Katy," laughed Grace; "I shall call you cousin,
though you are not really my cousin."
"Not your cousin?" said Katy, a shade of disappointment crossing
her animated features.
"No; for Mrs. Gordon is not really my mother; only my stepmother;
but she is just as good as a real mother, for I never knew any
other.
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