seeing a soul of me
same blood, or me home, or hearing another man call me by the name I was
born to, than to remember anything that would be hurting you, Angel. I
should think you'd be understanding that it ain't no ways possible for
me to do it."

The Angel's tear-stained face flashed into dazzling beauty. A
half-hysterical little laugh broke from her heart and bubbled over her
lips.

"Oh, Freckles, forgive me!" she cried. "I've been through so much that
I'm scarcely myself, or I wouldn't be here bothering you when you should
be sleeping. Of course you couldn't! I knew it all the time! I was just
scared! I was forgetting that you were you! You're too good a knight
to remember a thing like that. Of course you are! And when you don't
remember, why, then it's the same as if it never happened. I was almost
killed because I'd gone and spoiled everything, but now it will be all
right. Now you can go on and do things like other men, and I can have
some flowers, and letters, and my sweetheart coming, and when you are
SURE, why, then YOU can tell ME things, can't you? Oh, Freckles, I'm
so glad! Oh, I'm so happy! It's dear of you not to remember, Freckles;
perfectly dear! It's no wonder I love you so. The wonder would be if
I did not. Oh, I should like to know how I'm ever going to make you
understand how much I love you!"

Pillow and all, she caught him to her breast one long second; then she
was gone.

Freckles lay dazed with astonishment. At last his amazed eyes searched
the room for something approaching the human to which he could appeal,
and falling on his mother's portrait, he set it before him.

"For the love of life! Me little mother," he panted, "did you hear that?
Did you hear it! Tell me, am I living, or am I dead and all heaven come
true this minute? Did you hear it?"

He shook the frame in his impatience at receiving no answer.

"You are only a pictured face," he said at last, "and of course you
can't talk; but the soul of you must be somewhere, and surely in this
hour you are close enough to be hearing. Tell me, did you hear that? I
can't ever be telling a living soul; but darling little mother, who
gave your life for mine, I can always be talking of it to you! Every day
we'll talk it over and try to understand the miracle of it. Tell me, are
all women like that? Were you like me Swamp Angel? If you were, then I'm
understanding why me father followed across the ocean and went into the
fire."

CHAP