The woman also sat down, but not as if for ease. She drew one of the big
cheap albums towards her, and began vigorously searching in it from the
beginning, as if it were a book of strange characters in which she
wished to find a particular passage. She fixed her eyes upon each small
cheap photograph in turn, as if trying hard to remember who it
represented, and whether it was, or was not, the one she wanted. Caius
looked on amazed.
At length, about the middle of the book, she came to a portrait at which
she stopped, and with a look of cunning took out another which was
hidden under it, and thrust it at Caius.
"It's for you," she said; "it's mine, and I'm going to die, and it's you
I'll give it to."
She looked and spoke as if the proffered gift was a thing more precious
than the rarest gem.
Caius took it, and saw that it was a picture of a baby girl, about three
years old. He had not the slightest doubt who the child was; he stood by
the window and examined it long and eagerly. The sun, unaided by the
deceptive shading of the more skilled photographer, had imprinted the
little face clearly. Caius saw the curls, and the big sad eyes with
their long lashes, and all the baby features and limbs, his memory
aiding to make the portrait perfect. His eager look was for the purpose
of discovering whether or not his imagination had played him false; but
it was true what he had thought--the little one was like Josephine.
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