It's all right. I can tell you where
Freckles is; but whether you deserve to know--that's another matter!"
Lord O'More did not hear her. He dropped in his chair, and covering his
face, burst into those terrible sobs that shake and rend a strong man.
Lady O'More hovered over him, weeping.
"Umph! Looks pretty fair for Freckles," muttered the Angel. "Lots of
things can be explained; now perhaps they can explain this."
They did explain so satisfactorily that in a few minutes the Angel was
on her feet, hurrying Lord and Lady O'More to reach the hospital. "You
said Freckles' old nurse knew his mother's picture instantly," said the
Angel. "I want that picture and the bundle of little clothes."
Lady O'More gave them into her hands.
The likeness was a large miniature, painted on ivory, with a frame of
beaten gold. Surrounded by masses of dark hair was a delicately cut
face. In the upper part of it there was no trace of Freckles, but
the lips curving in a smile were his very own. The Angel gazed at it
steadily. Then with a quivering breath she laid the portrait aside and
reached both hands to Lord O'More.
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