The talk had evidently aroused some memory long buried in the colonel's
mind; for when Fitz had gone the dear old fellow picked up the glass
holding the roses which he had given his aunt in the morning, and,
while repeating her name softly to himself, buried his face in their
fragrance. Something, perhaps, in their perfume stirred that haunting
memory the deeper, for he suddenly raised his head and burst out:--
"Ah, Major, you ought to have seen that woman forty years ago! Why,
suh, she was just a rose herself!"
And then followed in disconnected scraps, as if he were recalling it
to himself, with long pauses between, that story which I had heard
hinted at before. A story never told the children, and never even
whispered in aunt Nancy's presence,--the one love affair of her life.
She and Robert had grown up together,--he a tall, brown-eyed young
fellow just out of the university, and she a fair-haired, joyous girl
with half the county at her feet. Nancy had not loved him at first,
nor ever did until the day he had saved her life in that wild dash
across country when her horse took fright, and he, riding neck and
neck, had lifted her clear of her saddle.
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