"I will be brief," continued the woman, rising slowly, and looking at
Georgia Conway, with that dagger-like smile. "General Darke-Davenant
has related a pleasing little history. I will relate another, and
address myself more particularly to Judge Conway--my dear uncle. He
does not, or will not, recognize me; and I suppose I may have changed.
But that is not important. I am none the less Lucretia Conway. You do
not remember that young lady, perhaps, sir; your proud Conway blood has
banished from your memory the very fact of her former existence. And
yet she existed--she exists still--she is speaking to you--unbosoming
herself in the midst of her dear family! But to tell my little
story--it will not take many minutes. I was born here, you remember,
uncle, and grew up what is called headstrong. At sixteen, I fell in
love with a young Adonis with a mustache; and, as you and the rest
opposed my marriage, obdurately refusing your consent, I yielded to the
eloquence of Mr. Adonis, and eloped with him, going to the North. Here
we had a quarrel. I grew angry, and slapped Adonis; and he took his
revenge by departing without leaving me a wedding-ring to recall his
dear image. Then I met that gentleman--General Darke-Mortimer-Davenant!
We took a fancy to each other; we became friends; and soon afterward
travelled to the South, stopping in Dinwiddie.
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