hortense escorted miss garberson into wroth towers, hortense’s ancestral home.
a row of framed paintings lined the long dim hallway.
most of them were portraits of long deceased unsmiling ancestors.
but one depicted a hooded man hanging from a gallows.
miss garberson stopped and considered it with a furrowed brow.
forgive me for asking, what is this a picture of?
it is a picture of great-grandfather walter wroth’s untimely demise.
he was hanged? miss garberson asked with a perplexed air.
the picture is clear enough, is it not? hortense replied.
was he hanged for any particular reason,? miss garberson persisted.
it was widely accepted that he was an unloyal citizen.
but of course, miss garberson murmured softly, yes, of course.
of course what? hortense replied, perhaps a bit too sharply.
of course he was hanged - it was in his stars.
what do you know about it? hortense, now amused, asked.
we knew each other, quite intimarely, in a previous life.
how can you tell, when he is wearing a hood?
because i would know him anywhere - we were in love.
we met on a summer evening, under a pale moon.
i was an orphan - he was heir to a dukedom.
walter was npt heir to any dukedom, or to anything.
he was heir to my heart, miss garberson asserted confidently.
but the old duke did not approve of my existence.
and arranged for poor walter to be unjustly accused of -
.
of something dreadful, but it hardly matters now, does it?
thank you so much for sharing, shall we move on?
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