"Oh, aunty, I want a _true_ story! Do, darling aunty, tell us your
own. Tell us why you are blessing our home with your presence, instead
of that of some noble man, for noble he must have been to have won
your heart, and--hush-sh! Yes, yes; I know something about somebody,
and I must know all. Do, please!"
I plead on. I always could do more with Aunt Edna than any one else. I
was named for her, and many called me like her--"only not nearly so
pretty" was always added.
At last she consented, saying:
"Dear girls, to only one before have I given my entire confidence,
and that was my mother. I scarce know why I have yielded to your
persuasions, little Edna, save that this night, with its gloom and
rain, carries me back long years, and my heart seems to join its
pleading with yours, yearning to cast forth some of its fulness, and
perchance find relief by pouring into your loving heart its own
sorrows. But, darling, I would not cast my shadow over your fair brow,
even for a brief time."
With her hand still shading her face, Aunt Edna began:
"Just such a night as this, eighteen years ago, dear child, my fate
was decided.
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