It was clear he did not find it easy to talk about
himself. But soon I no longer doubted whether I ought to have met him,
and loved him a great deal more by the time he had done.
I then told him in return what my life had hitherto been; how I knew
nothing of father or mother; how my uncle had been everything to me; how
he had taught me all I knew, had helped me to love what was good and hate
what was evil, had enabled me to value good books, and turn away from
foolish ones. In short, I made him feel that all his mother had not been
to him, my uncle had been to me; and that it would take a long time to
make me as much indebted to a husband as already I was to my uncle. Then
I put the question:
"What would you think of me if I had a secret from an uncle like that?"
"If I had an uncle like that," he answered, "I would sooner cut my throat
than keep anything from him!"
"I have not told him," I said, "what happened to-day--or yesterday."
"But you will tell him?"
"The first moment I can. But I hope you understand it is hard to do. My
love for my uncle makes it hard. It has the look of turning away from him
to love another!"
With that I burst out crying. I could not help it. He let me cry, and did
not interfere. I was grateful for that. When at length I raised my head,
he spoke.
"It has that look," he said; "but I trust it is only a look.
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