CHAPTER IXWHOSE CHILD AM I?
Miss Arran tapped lightly at the half-open door and Mrs. Barrington bade both ladies enter.
“How is Mrs. Boyd?”
“Why she seems curiously better. She has been talking awhile to her daughter and her voice has a latent strength that surprises one, and we have been unwitting listeners to a most remarkable story. Did you ever suspect that she might not be the own mother of Miss Boyd?”
“The thought has crossed my mind. They are so dissimilar.”
“I have never really liked Mrs. Boyd or the girl either,” began Mrs. Dane. “There seemed something to conceal, some secret between them. I had a fancy Lilian was on the watch all the time lest her mother should betray it.”
“Oh, did you think that? It appeared to me the anxiety of a girl of good breeding lest her mother should fall into habits of a different kind that were rather annoying. Yet they had always been together—”
“It seemed to me aping a style really above what she had been used, a certain pretentiousness,that did not appear suitable to her position, but she has proved a devoted nurse and daughter, and I will confess my prejudice has received a great shock, and I admit frankly that I may have been mistaken when I accused her of being at the Clairvoyant’s. Miss Arran will you tell the story—it seems a deathbed confession.”
Miss Arran began. She had started to go in Mrs. Boyd’s room to see if anything was needed when the words arrested her, and she detailed the journey Mrs. Boyd had undertaken with her infant child, the dreadful midnight disaster, the unconsciousness of the poor woman until the next day, her hearing the child cry and claiming it unwittingly, and then learning the child’s mother had been killed as well as her own baby and her resolve to keep it; her taking it on her farther journey, and caring for it as her own, her latent remorse lest she should have defrauded the girl out of a better birthright—
Mrs. Barrington rose suddenly and paced the room in strange agitation.
“Somewhere I have heard a story that might be the other side of this. It is very strange,” clasping her hands. “One would not want to make a mistake.”
“I wish you mighthearthe story, and one point of importance is whether it would be wisdom to help the girl in any search for her parentage. Sometimes unfortunate facts come to light. You, perhaps, can tell what will be the best course to pursue.”
“Yes, I am glad you came to me. I had resolved to keep Miss Boyd here after her mother was gone. I must give the matter some thought. We will not be hasty. Yes, I should like to hear the confession and ask her some questions. Lilian must not stay alone tonight.”
“I will gladly offer my services if they would be acceptable,” said Mrs. Dane.
“I think I will take the first part of the night, and then you may be watcher. I thank you very much for your kindness.”
Mrs. Barrington went to the quiet apartment. Lilian had fallen asleep with her head on her mother’s pillow. She had exhausted herself with a soft, pitiful crying. With the quick unreason of youth she upbraided herself for the many times she had been secretly mortified at her mother’s lack of the qualities she liked best. She had spent hours in dreaming of a phantom mother sweet, graceful and refined, who loved all delightful things, whowas stirred by music and poetry, who could receive guests with a gracious hospitality in the pretty home which should be simple as befitted moderate means. The sympathy between them would be perfect. They would linger over well-loved poets, they would discuss their brave heroes and favorite heroines. How many times she had fallen asleep with this dear mother’s hand clasped in hers!
But here had been the hard working mother instead. Yes, she had tried to help. Nearly all the summer vacation she had sewed steadily, but she had never given the real love. It was as if neither truly understood the other’s language.
“All the rest of her life I will try,” was her last conscious thought.
Mrs. Barrington found them both asleep. She studied the girl’s face, the finely cut features, the wide eyelids with their bronze fringe, the beautifully curved lips. Itwasan aristocratic face. She hardly dared think therewasa resemblance, and yet it explained what had puzzled her at times. “Lilian,” she said softly. “Lilian, child, it is time you were in bed.”
The girl roused suddenly with a startledlook. Then she caught the hand and pressed a fervent kiss upon it.
“You are all so kind,” she murmured. “I can never repay you sufficiently.”
“Do not think of that, I am going to sit here awhile with your mother and you must try and get some sleep.”
“Mother is better I think,” hesitatingly. “She is stronger, and now she is sleeping peacefully.”
She slept on with only a rather heavy breathing. At one Mrs. Dane came to relieve her. Lilian was on the alert quite early and her mother asked for some breakfast.
At ten the doctor came. “I feel so much stronger,” the invalid said, “but I can’t move my limbs. There doesn’t seem any life in them.”
“It was quite a severe stroke.”
“And if I should have another?”
“We won’t think of that just now. You must eat what you can of nourishing food.”
Mrs. Boyd glanced up at the doctor with beseeching eyes—
“It is best that I shouldn’t live—”
“For your daughter’s sake.” Dr. Kendricks felt almost ashamed of the platitude.A helpless burden on a young girl, a poor, weak woman.
“Itisfor her sake. She has found a good friend in Mrs. Barrington, and I can do no more. I did what I thought best then, but I did it for the sake of my aching, lonely heart. But for the child I believe I must have died then. Doesn’t God forgive when you do what seems best?”
There was anguish in every line of the wasted face.
“God knows the motive of every deed, and if it is done in single mindedness, in love and charity he will accept.”
“It was done in love. You see, her mother was dead. There was no one to claim her. Oh, what am I saying! Go away, you can do nothing for me,” and she turned her face over to the wall.
He stood some seconds by her. She was crying softly, and again motioned him away with her hand.
He went out of the room and looked around. Yes, there was Mrs. Barrington.
“What is the matter between that mother and daughter?” he inquired brusquely. “She seems—wellisthe girl her own child? Has she done—something—”
“Oh, doctor can you spare a little time? I am troubled and puzzled. She made a strange confession last night and it seemed almost as if I knew the connecting link. Let me call Mrs. Dane and Miss Arran.”
They came and at Mrs. Barrington’s invitation were seated. The doctor studied them a moment with drawn brows.
“Doctor, I want you to relate your experience of more than fifteen years ago when you went out to the scene of that frightful accident from which Mrs. Crawford has suffered so long and when her twin daughter was lost.”
“What has that to do with it?”
“You will see. I believe Major Crawford left his wife and daughter in your charge when he was ordered to the west with his regiment.”
“Yes.” He seemed to study a few moments. “Then came the word of the skirmish with the Indians when he was wounded in the leg which proved so much worse than he first thought and she decided to go out to him and take one of the babies. He had gone fairly wild over the birth of the little girls; they had so longed for a daughter. Marguerite, if you remember, was a strong, robust baby, laughing if you so much as smiled at her. A beautiful baby, I thought, looking much like her mother. Zaideewas smaller and more delicate, though never ill that I can recall. She decided to take Marguerite and the wet nurse who was very proud of her charge and fond of Mrs. Crawford. When we heard of the frightful disaster you may remember that I went out at once. It was a most dreary place, just a sort of freight station where the tracks crossed the through road. It could not be called a town, though now it is a thriving city and the freighting road runs miles below. When I reached the place most of the wreckage had been cleared away, the dead buried, the wounded sent to friends or hospitals at a distance. I found about half a dozen remaining, four of them almost well enough to resume their journey. Two were thought hopeless, one of them being Mrs. Crawford. Fifteen years ago there were not so many conveniences as there are now, and as the fire broke out afterward the baggage was mostly lost and it was quite difficult to find the names of the passengers at first. The nurse and the baby had been killed outright. There was one other baby on the train and that had been taken farther West with its mother.”
Miss Arran and the housekeeper exchanged glances.
“Mrs. Crawford had sustained some injury to the brain and for the first few days they had thought her dead half a dozen times. The people where she had been taken were very kind. She was in a comatose state most of the time, and when she roused seemed quite ignorant of what had happened. There was some injury to the back that rendered her limbs useless. As soon as I could make arrangements I had her removed to Indianapolis to a fine hospital where we found, on an exhaustive examination, the spine had been injured, the ligatures strained and muscles actually torn apart. When the Major was well enough to travel—and he came very near losing his leg, it seemed, he joined us, and we journeyed on to New York. Meanwhile the Major’s brother had died, a queer, penurious old fellow who had never given up his rights in the estate and now it all came to the Major, besides a large amount of money. He resigned from the army and they came home. Mrs. Crawford had kept her mind through all this and had been most brave, recovering very slowly as you know and when she could manage to get about on crutches it appeared as if the last stage of recovery had been attained; but now it seems nothing short of a miracle.And there was the beautiful little golden haired fairy to gladden their hearts—”
“But the nurse and the child?” interrupted Miss Arran.
“The child was crushed beyond recognition. They placed it in the coffin with the nurse and buried it temporarily. The Major meant to have it brought home, but it was so long before they could get about it, and it seemed like living the heart-breaking episode over, so he concluded to have it permanently interred in a burying ground a few miles distant, which is now a really beautiful spot. Mrs. Crawford was ill so long that it seems like a dream to her.”
“And did no one ever hear of the other child?”
“What was there to hear? The mother claimed it.”
“The woman dying in yonder room claimed the child first, ignorantly, then believing the mother dead, took it in the place of her poor murdered child.”
“No!” The doctor sprang up and began to pace the floor. “Why, then, that young girl—”
“Miss Arran will you tell the other side ofthe story. Why it seems to me there can be no mistake,” said Mrs. Barrington.
“Well—this is most marvelous. Does the girl know—”
“Oh, she protests. I think she has no idea. But the mother fancies we may find some relative, a father perhaps, for she truly believes the mother dead.”
“But this confession—would she repeat it again?”
“I think she spoke of having it written out somewhere.”
“It must be well authenticated, you know. And—what steps have you considered?”
“None. Tomorrow will be Sunday—they will all go to church to give thanks; then on Christmas day they are to have a small family dinner. You and Mrs. Kendricks and myself, two or three dear old friends, and it would be hardly wise to mar the sacredness of the occasion. We may see our way more clearly, I would not like to have Miss Boyd disturbed on uncertainties.”
“I will take a further look at her,” said the doctor. “I have known cases like hers to last weeks, even when strength seemed to be almost gone.”
He wanted also to see Miss Boyd again.He had not noticed her critically. Mrs. Barrington had spoken of the likeness that had puzzled her in the beginning, the elusive resemblance to Mrs. Crawford in her girlhood, as for two years she had been at school. He paused at the door. She was standing by the window her profile distinctly outlined. It was classic, from the broad, shapely forehead, the down-dropped eyelids with their dark fringe, the straight nose with the fine, flexible nostrils, the rounded chin, the lips that seemed to shut in sadness and longing, but it was the poise of the head, the arching neck, the shoulders proud enough for a statue. It needed more real youthfulness for sixteen, but one could trace resemblances.
Did she feel the scrutiny? She turned. The front view was more girlish.
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “mother is sleeping. Is it a bad sign for her to sleep so much?”
“It gives her rest and saves the wear on her nerves. You are a watchful nurse. Where did you learn so much?”
“I think it comes to you when one has done so much for you,” she answered quietly.
“Did you always live in that western country town?” he asked, just to make talk.
Lilian colored and hesitated. “When I wasa baby mother went out to Wisconsin to her brother’s, I don’t remember anything of that. Yes, afterward we lived in Laconia until we came here; but, do you think she can—mend?” and she approached the bed.
Dr. Kendricks made a slow movement in the negative. “She has very little strength. Was she ill before she came here?”
“Long ago she had a fever, but I think now she has been weakly for a year or more. I was so anxious to keep in school. Oh, I ought to have helped more,” and the tears stood in her eyes. “For we were poor.”
She uttered the fact with a kind of prideful dignity. “She did everything for me and I had planned when I began to earn money that we would have a home—”
“Yes, you have been a good daughter,” and all this while she might have been living in a delightful manner in her father’s house, loving and beloved, the comfort of her mother! For she would have been a devoted daughter in that beautiful home. He hardened his heart against the dying woman, and walked quietly out of the room.
“The story must be true,” he admitted to Mrs. Barrington. “But I cannot tell what step to take first. Would you mind if I sawMr. Ledwith? He has been the Crawford lawyer and was the brother’s executor. I am quite mystified and perhaps not capable of judging.”
“Why, I think that would be an excellent plan. Yes. He can tell better what steps to take. But Lilian will not leave the poor woman. I am not sure she believes the story. She does not count on any change but is glad to stay here with me and fit herself for earning a living. She has a very loyal nature.”
Mrs. Boyd roused and ate her dinner, then Lilian read her to sleep again. She begged not to be sent out to walk and Mrs. Barrington yielded.
At five Mr. Ledwith called, full of interest in the strange story and begged to see Mrs. Boyd, wondering if she would repeat it. Lilian was summoned.
“Oh, it would seem cruel to disturb her,” she cried with passionate tenderness, “and she suffered so in telling it the other evening. It cannot make much difference to me, since my own mother was killed, and my father may have been dead before that. I shall always hold her in my memory as my mother.”
“But the woman who was killed may not have been your mother.”
Lilian started in surprise.
“There seems to be a reason why we should be certain in this. Trust me, I will not torment her needlessly.”
“My dear child itisbest;” said Mrs. Barrington. “Can you not trust me?”
Lilian was not convinced but she led the way.
“Oh, where have you been so long?” cried the invalid. “You said you would stay—has some one come to take you away? Oh, you will not go. You promised. It will be only a little while.”
She fell into a pitiable terror. Lilian soothed. Mr. Ledwith tried to explain that they might possibly find the young girl’s father who was now a prosperous man.
But Mrs. Boyd would not be persuaded. She began to talk incoherently, and suddenly raising her head and leaning on one elbow said—“send them away. It is all true as I told you. You are not my own child, but I have loved you all these years, oh, youwillstay with me! I can feel that it will not be for long. It is there in the drawer—I wrote it out. It took so long and I was so tired, sotired! Give it to them and send them away. Oh, Lilian, he is not your father. Promise me you will not go with him.”
Lilian opened the drawer. There lay quite a big packet, with the superscription,—“For my daughter Lilian when I am dead.”
She simply handed it to Mr. Ledwith. He and Mrs. Barrington left the room. Mrs. Boyd gave way to a wild fit of weeping and Lilian had much ado to comfort her, but presently she soothed her to slumber.
“Who heard this story or confession?” he asked as they entered the library.
“Mrs. Dane and Miss Arran.”
“Will they come and listen? They can tell whether the two will agree and point out any discrepancy.”
It was written in a shaky hand and evidently at intervals, many words misspelled and phrases repeated, but with a passionate sincerity and an overwhelming love for the child whose mother she thought dead, and she fancied the baby might be thrown on the charity of the world, but she knew even then it was not her baby but the longing for the child was pitiful. Mrs. Barrington was reading it and now and then her voice faltered.
“Oh,” said Miss Arran, “they are alike exceptthat this seems more pathetic. There is no doubt of the truth in my mind. Of courseshesaw the difference as Miss Lilian grew older and she was afraid she might have defrauded her of some better fortune. Oh, I pity the poor woman profoundly. She had a hard life. Mrs. Barrington, this must have seemed a haven of rest to her. Providence must have guided you.”
“It is certainly remarkable,” subjoined Mr. Ledwith. “I will see Dr. Kendricks this evening, but I think we had better wait until after Christmas so as not to mar the happy reunion of that day. Then we must see how the Major will take it. It is one of the things he almost never refers to, and he was afraid of intensifying the loss by having the body brought here for burial. Truly there are many strange happenings in this world. I am requested to look up another child that was given out for adoption, and now has a fortune coming to it after twenty years.”
CHAPTER XUNRAVELING TANGLED THREADS
Sunday morning was glorious. There had been a light fall of snow and every tree and shrub was in feathery whiteness, while the sky was as blue as June. The sun came up through the long levels of yellow light more golden than ever until every branch and twig shimmered in iridescent hues.
Lilian bathed and dressed herself, now and then leaning over her mother who seemed to breathe regularly, but the face was thin and pallid, and the soft hair seemed to have whitened in these few days. She bent over and kissed the cool forehead.
Miss Arran looked in.
“Oh, is it all right? I left you at two; there really was no need of watches as I was just across the hall, but I think you confine yourself too closely. Now you must go down and take a walk on the porch. The morning air has a positive balminess in it. It really should be Christmas morning with the angels singing for very joy.”
Lilian looked undecided. Yet the very thought of sunshine and fresh air was reviving.
“I will call you the moment she wakes,” said Miss Arran, and the girl went.
Oh, how delightful it was! She drew in long breaths and gave a great, fervent thanksgiving. Yes, it was good to live, to be able to work, to have a purpose in life and see the way to attain it.
She went in presently. Her mother had just wakened. She bathed her face and hands with fragrant water, brushed her hair and put on a pretty dressing sacque of her own. Then she had some breakfast which she appeared to enjoy.
“I feel so drowsy,” she said. “I am so comfortable and at ease.”
That was much to be thankful for.
“Lilian will you do me a favor this morning,” began Mrs. Barrington in her most persuasive voice. “I want you to go to church with me. The Crawford family will be there to give thanks. And we have learned that your mother was in the same fearful accident and her escape was a marvel. All these years Mrs. Crawford has been an invalid but she has borne her suffering with exemplary patience. Dr. Kendricks went out at once but there was scarcely any hope of her living then. Your mother spoke of a beautiful woman theythought dying or dead—do you remember?”
“Oh, yes. A woman with such lovely golden hair. Miss Zaidee’s is exquisite, too. Yes, I will go. I should like to see her. How strange it all is! And my own mother, it seems, was among the killed.”
“It was terrible. Of course your mother going away so soon did not hear all of it. Yes, I want you to go with me.”
Dr. Kendricks made his visit and saw there was little change. Several of the girls were going and they started early. Mrs. Barrington kept two pews on one side of the church, which was all in Christmas attire with wreaths of holly here and there, and clusters of golden flowers dried in their natural colors. The altar was fragrant with real blossoms and to Lilian there came a deeper emotion than reverence; something she had never experienced before. She who had no joy of her very own must rejoice in that of others and search out the blessings of the spirit, find a way into the other kingdom, where the things one hungers and longs for are laid up against the time one is fitted for the pure and high enjoyment of them. The strength of the steadfast waiting, the lives that touched with near or remote sympathy and held God’s promise for today,for all time. There was something kept for those who wearied not, that was bestowed when the soul had come to understand the true source of beneficent living.
She had been listening to the beautiful music and now there was a sudden hush while several of the congregation entered. There were Major and Mrs. Crawford, and certainly curious eyes might be pardoned as she walked up the aisle with a graceful step. Oh, yes, shewasa lovely woman, as in sweet humility and reverence she bowed her head.
Then followed Zay and the fine looking midshipman who showed his pride in every line. What it must be to have a brother like that! Yet there was no envy in Lilian’s soul, since all these joys and privileges were far beyond her. But she had a quick, responsive nature when anything really touched her, and she joyed sincerely in this other’s joy.
The service was gracious and comforting even to her. Hundreds of years ago ignorant shepherds sat watching their flocks all the long starlight night, and then the song of the angels, the great promise, the new era, the blessedness for the whole world that each might take his share.
And the reverent prayer of this, Thy servant,delivered from her bodily illness who desired to return thanks in the presence of all Thy people touched her heart to tears, and she joined in it fervently.
The class did not stay for the whole service. Lilian hurried home, glad to escape the chatter of the curious. Her mother had just roused.
“It was such a sweet, comforting service. I wish you could have heard it, and—” would she understand about Mrs. Crawford—her “beautiful woman?”
“I’m afraid when you leave me. Don’t go away again,” and the thin lips quivered.
“But you have slept all the time, and youdofeel better.”
“If I could move about—” fretfully.
“Can I help?”
“Oh, no. I want to do it myself, but my limbs won’t stir. Is it spring, that the sun shines so?”
“No, dear. Tomorrow will be Christmas.”
“Do you remember Sally? She had a party you know and you wouldn’t go—”
“But I was only a little girl, a school girl, and they were young ladies.”
“Lilian do you mean never to have a lover? It is the happiest time for a girl. He takes youout and buys you pretty little things. He gave me that work box on Christmas, and a ring afterward. I don’t see how God could have let him get killed—we were so happy. He wasn’t your father. Both his babies died. Do you suppose he found them in heaven?”
Mrs. Boyd began to cry. Her mind wandered considerably now. Lilian tried to read to her but she broke in with irrelevant snatches that had been pleasures to her long ago until she dropped off to sleep again.
There was a rather joyous time in the morning. Mrs. Barrington remembered her household and the girls who had been compelled to stay.
Lilian gave thanks for two beautiful volumes of poetry. Miss Arran remembered her with a box of very nice stationery, Mrs. Dane with some handkerchiefs, Mrs. Barrington went to the dinner at Crawford House, but the girls complained of the dullness. Lilian was so used to being sufficient for herself, so fond of reading that the day passed even if it had no Christmas joys.
It was very happy at Crawford House. Vincent had arrived in the morning and added to their joy. Zay was bright and animatedand the three planned many delights for the future.
“There ought to be some young people,” said the mother, “but we couldn’t have both and yours will come later on. I wanted these dear old friends who have been such a comfort in my hard and trying years and then I shall begin over with you and be young again.”
“And I was proud enough when I found I was put on the list for a three years’ cruise,” declared Willard, “and now the thought quite unmans me. But we may stop at some place where you can all take a flying trip.”
“It can’t be next summer,” said Vincent. “I have engaged them for my grand occasion. Next June I shall be a full fledged soldier and there will be the ball in which Zay will shine a star of the first magnitude.”
“And set the day after,” laughed the girl. “Oh, Phil Rosewald wants to come and half a dozen others, but I suppose you can’t invite so many sisters and cousins.”
Vincent drew his face in an amusing half frown. “Is Phil as funny as ever? Doesn’t she sometimes jump over the traces? And how about the lovers? I think she had them ever since she stepped out of the cradle.”
“In the multitude there is safety,” said their father.
Mrs. Barrington could not keep her thoughts from the lonely girl watching beside the dying woman. Oh, how would she get to her true place in the bright happy group. For years she had been as dead to them. Would Zay, who had garnered all the love and tenderness in her own girlish heart, be willing to share it?
Dr. Kendricks drew her a little aside. “I can’t stand it!” he exclaimed, “I couldn’t break in upon this blessed day, but the thought of Miss Boyd has haunted me every moment. I must tell the Major tomorrow morning. Oh, how do you suppose he will take it? Mrs. Boyd is no longer reliable, her mind fails hourly. But out of the mouth of two or three witnesses everything shall be established. Hasn’t Miss Boyd any curiosity?”
“Very little. She thinks her mother is dead and has built no hopes about a father and she relies upon my word. She has looked forward to caring for herself so long that I hardly see how she will give it up. At first she will not be glad. If the Major should doubt the story—”
“The likeness grows upon one. I saw it so plainly this morning. She is more like hermother than Zay and will make a fine looking woman. And I have seen it in Mrs. Crawford a dozen times today. I no longer doubt and I feel like an arch conspirator.”
Mrs. Crawford was enjoying herself keenly, though the nurse insisted she must take to the sofa and let others do the talking. The children gathered about her, full of eager love. Was there in the whole wide world a happier mother? And yet—far away another darling lay in a lonesome grave. She had ceased to speak of it and her husband thought she had outlived the sorrow. In a certain way she had.
Then the guests prepared to depart. At nine Vincent was to take his train.
“But you and father can run up now and then. They will be glad to see him. They are always proud of their old graduates, especially those who have distinguished themselves. But, I’m glad you didn’t have to make a present of your leg to the country.”
“It did come pretty near it. Ah, we have a great many mercies to be thankful for. It seems as if there was nothing more to ask except that you boys should keep in the right way.”
“As we shall try to,” Willard returned andVincent’s eyes gave a similar promise as he kissed his mother good-by.
“Put on your wraps and come along with us Zay,” said Willard. “You must need an airing by this time.”
Zay was nothing loth. They talked of next summer, the elder brother regretting that he would be in Japan in all probability. Then they said a tender good-by, and on the homeward way Willard proposed a call on the Norton’s where there were two charming girls and a few other guests who were having a little dance.
“Oh, yes,” assented the young midshipman. “For you see, girls will be quite out of my line the next three years. I shall sigh for their charms and return a critical and opinionated bachelor, judging all girls by the novels I have read in my solitude.”
“I think I’ll make you out a list,” said Eva Norton, laughingly.
“Do, and send it in a letter with your approval and disapproval of the characters so I shall know what to copy and what to avoid.
“And now you must have one dance.”
Zay thought it rather late, but her brother overruled and they had a merry time, but it was midnight before they returned.
Major Crawford and his wife often had their breakfast in the dainty sitting room up stairs. Zay just glanced in to bid them good-morning as Willard was impatiently calling her down. She had not slept very well and had a headache, and she would not go out for a walk with him. She heard her father reading the paper aloud, so she went to her room and dropped on the bed again. Her throat began to feel sore and swollen. When she heard the doctor’s voice in the hall she leaned over the banister and said: “Dr. Kendricks will you come up here a minute or two?”
“Yes, yes, what now? Did you feast too high yesterday?”
“I don’t know. I feel sick all over. First I’m all of a shiver and then so hot and my head aches.”
“Well, we must inquire into it. Yes, you are flushed and getting excited. I think it is a feverish cold and some indigestion. We’ll soon fix that all right. Luckily I brought my medicine chest along,” and he laughed.
“Doctor, you don’t think—are there any more cases of scarlet fever?” and her voice was tremulous.
“Scarlet fever! Don’t get any such nonsense in your curly pate. No, there’s notanother case and the little girl is recovering rapidly. Why you’ve not been even exposed to it and yours is just a cold. Now, alternate with these and I’ll be in again this afternoon. But, I’d stay in bed and rest.”
She slipped into a soft white wrapper, and Katy came in to straighten up her room.
“You were out late last night, Miss Zay and you’ve caught a cold.”
“But, I so rarely have a cold.”
“It sounds in your voice. Keep wrapped up good and warm. There’s nothing like heat to drive out those pernickety colds and I wish you’d drink some hot water.”
“I’ll see by and by.”
She turned her hot throbbing temple over on the pillow. If only she could shut out the sight and the smell of the clairvoyant’s room, and that boy grasping for breath. It must have been something awful for them both to die almost together and be shut up at once in their coffins; and then a horror seized her. She had always been so well and joyous. Oh, what if she should die? It would kill her mother. Girls were more to their mothers; business called so many of the boys away.
She began to cry. The doctor and her father went down stairs. She thought hermother would come in and tried to calm the sort of hysterical mood. Whatwerethey talking about so long? Was she worse than the doctor had admitted? She heard her father’s voice rise as if in a passion which his visitor seemed trying to subdue. Oh, whathadhappened?
Her mother entered the room very pale and with frightened eyes.
“Oh, Zay,” she cried, dropping on the side of the bed, “have you any idea what your father and Doctor Kendricks are quarreling about? Your father is not easily excited—he used to be very quick in temper but he has grown so gentle and considerate. But it is something that rouses him to white heat. We have always been such dear friends since that time of the great sorrow, and it is not about the boys, I know. Oh, Zay, what is the matter? You look ill—you must have a fever, your eyes show it.”
“The doctor called it a feverish cold. He is coming again this afternoon.” She was half listening to the tumult in the library, and she shook as if in an ague.
“Oh, there they go again. Why—they are going out,” and she went to the hall to call to her husband but the door was flung to as ifin a passion. Then someone entered and ran lightly upstairs.
“Mother, Zay, what is the row about? Father looks as if he—but he neverdoesdrink and they are going to Mrs. Barrington’s.”
Zay buried her face in her hands and began to sob.
“Oh, mother, what is it? Has Vin met with some accident? And we were so happy yesterday! Do you remember the old story of the gods being jealous of the happiness of mortals? There was nothing to wish for.”
“I do not know what it is, but it has excited your father desperately and I am afraid Zay is going to be ill.”
“My dear Zay—I should not have kept you out so late last night. We called at the Norton’s and had a little dance. Don’t you need the doctor—”
“He was in. He is coming this afternoon. Oh, my head aches—”
“And you look fit to drop, mother. Let me call the nurse.”
Freida gently impelled Mrs. Crawford to her own room and laid her on the lounge, making passes over her brow and chafing her cold hands.
“Now, lie still and get tranquil, and I will see to the young lady.”
“I would like to put you in a hot bath with plenty of salt, and then give you a good rub. Why, you have gone all to pieces, as you Americans say.”
Zaidee made no demur. Willard went and read aloud to his mother. The girl was bathed and rubbed and rolled in a blanket. She felt real drowsy, but the thought haunted her—what if Louie Howe had been taken ill with scarlet fever and they had sent word to Mrs. Barrington? Then Louie must have confessed and the three would be implicated. No wonder her father was angry!
She tossed around for awhile but, in spite, of her mental excitement she fell asleep. The luncheon hour passed; no one wanted to eat. Then Major Crawford let himself in with his latchkey. He was very pale now.
“Oh, is there bad news?” asked Willard.
“It depends on—how your mother takes it. Such a strange story—I can hardly credit it myself. Do not let us be interrupted unless I have to summon someone,” and he passed on his way upstairs.
CHAPTER XISTANDING UP TO THE MARK
Lilian Boyd bathed her mother’s face and hands as usual and prepared her breakfast. Her eyes were brighter, her voice stronger, but the girl noticed that her face seemed a little swollen and the lines about her mouth had lost their flexibility.
“You are surely better. You have more appetite,” yet the tone was not hopeful.
“Oh, my dear, it is nearer the end, and it is best. You will do better without me, and what if you should find someone—a father to be proud of you? Such things have happened, and I may have kept you out of something that was your right. Oh, will God forgive me?”
Lilian caught the thin hand and pressed it to her lips.
“Mother, you must not worry about this. Suppose my own mother was a widow like you going to a new home to earn her living. Why, I might have been put in some Children’s Asylum. And I have had many comforts and a love willing to make sacrifices. I have been a dreamy girl building air castles for the future, but I would have worked hard tomake them real. I see now how much is needed and I am not afraid——”
“Oh, if I could think you had lost nothing through my selfish love——”
“But it was your friend who sent us here. And you are not sorry we came?”
“Oh, my child, it was truly God’s providence. Mrs. Barrington has been so good. She will help you to attain your best aims. Since we have been here I have realized the difference between us that I only felt vaguely before. You belong to these people. You have their ways and it is not all education, either. This is why I feel your people could not have been in the common walks of life.”
She paused, exhausted.
“Now, you must not talk any more but try to sleep. Shall I read to you?”
“No, not now. Oh, Lilian, you will not tire of me? You will not leave me? It cannot be long——”
“No, no, and this will be my home. Let that comfort you.”
Lilian took up some embroidery. Mrs. Barrington had merely looked in to inquire. How still the house seemed, and she was in a highly nervous mood. What if Major Crawford should not believe the story? Well,Lilian Boyd should never know how near she had come to being a heroine of romance, and she should achieve some of her desires.
Mrs. Boyd drowsed. Yes, it was really the providence of God that she should be removed. She would always have the things she most desired, which she, Mrs. Boyd could not have given her in the pretty home Lilian had been planning. She had been happy with her lover, then her husband. But, Lilian would shrink from the kiss of the grimy man fresh from his hard work, and after his brief ablutions, sitting down to supper in his shirt sleeves and then lighting his pipe and pushing his baby up and down the front walk, jesting and laughing with the neighbors. There were blocks of them, most of them happy women, too, except when the babies came too fast or died out of their arms. And a few games of cards in the evening, a play now and then merry enough to keep one laughing. No, it would never have done for Lilian.
And she would feel out of place in the life to which the girl aspired. She would never get quite at ease with these refined friends whose talk was of books and music and the part great men and women were playing in the world.
How many times does one have a foreshadowing of the real things that affect life! One may be heavy hearted for days groping about fearsomely and suddenly the cloud lifts without any misfortune. Then swift in the happiest hour comes the stroke that crushes one. Lilian looked straight ahead in her life. She would serve her time here and repay Mrs. Barrington for her generous kindness.
In a lovely old town like Mount Morris, the lines of caste get unconsciously drawn. Where people have lived hundreds of years and can trace back to some titled ancestor perhaps, where they have never known the hard grind of poverty, but have worked on the higher lines. There had been several noted clergymen, two bishops, scholars, senators and even an ambassador abroad. There was no especial pride in this, it was simply what was to be expected of sons growing up in this refined, upright and moral atmosphere. But they sometimes passed rather proudly by those of the next lower round who bent their energies to money making.
Lilian had soon come to understand that and her personal pride kept her aloof from any chance of snubs. But she would wanta wider world presently that was not bounded by a grandfather or a fortune that had descended through generations.
There were moments when Mrs. Boyd’s confession seemed a feverish dream. She did not dare build anything on it, because she had indulged in some romantic dreams and longings, because there had been wounded vanity almost to a sense of shame, she held herself to a strict account. No matter what she might gain here, she would always be considered Mrs. Boyd’s daughter. She had not expected to be received with the young ladies of the school, and had taken no notice of the little rudenesses that might have had a better excuse if she had been trying to crowd in. So all the refinements of birth and education did not always conduce to the higher generosity of heart.
Miss Arran came gently in the room with an anxious glance toward the bed.
“Mrs. Barrington wishes to see you in the library, Miss Boyd. I will stay here with your mother.”
Lilian laid down her work as she rose and said: “Mother is asleep now.”
Then she went slowly down the wide stairway, her eyes lingering on some of the panelsthat had been painted in by a true artist.
“My dear child,” the lady said in a voice that seemed full of emotion, “you must have felt from the beginning that I had taken an unusual interest in you. You suggested some person that I could not quite place, but came to know afterward that it was one of my early scholars, a most charming girl. She married happily and had two sons, but they both longed for a daughter. Providence listened to their prayers and sent them a double portion, two lovely girls. My friend’s husband was a soldier stationed on the frontier and in an Indian raid was quite severely wounded. It was not deemed best to risk moving him and she resolved to go out to him. One of the babies, the first born was larger and stronger than the other, and she determined to take this one with a most excellent nurse she had. You heard the story Mrs. Boyd told. My friend was in the same frightful accident—the nurse was killed outright, but the baby by some miracle had not so much as a scratch. The only other baby was crushed beyond recognition.”
Lilian sprang up, then the room seemed to swim round. She caught at the chair back to steady herself and gave a great gasp.
“Oh, and my mother, Mrs. Boyd, took the child, but they all thought the nurse the real mother. And, oh—she could not bear to give up the baby. Oh, you must forgive her.”
“In the confusion I can see that it was very easily done. Dr. Kendricks went out at once. He found the mother gravely injured and the word was that the baby was dead. It was beyond recognition. Mrs. Boyd, who had only been stunned, had gone on her way. You have heard her side of the story, knowing the other side when Miss Arran detailed it, we sent for Dr. Kendricks and pieced it all together. You have been so occupied with your supposed mother, and I must say you have been a devoted daughter, that you have hardly noted our excitement and interest. The confession established the facts beyond a doubt in our minds, but we were not sure how the father would take it. And the place has altered immeasurably; there have been so many accidents since, that that has passed into oblivion. But no one can dispute the proof. Your mother was a noticeably handsome girl; but there is a curious resemblance, and it grows upon one.”
“And I am scarcely handsome at all,” the girl said, slowly.
“Have you no curiosity to know whom you belong to?” studying Lilian intently.
“Oh, I dare not ask, I hardly dare believe! It is so mysterious. She, yes, I will call her mother, though there might be a father somewhere. And was that beautiful woman they believed dying——”
Lilian clasped her hands over her eyes. Like a flash it seemed to pass before her. Zay Crawford’s double, some of the girls had called her.
“Oh,” she cried, “can I endure it? What if they do not want me?”
“If they had doubted the story it would have been kept from you. Can you guess—”
Lilian flung herself in Mrs. Barrington’s arms, with a long, dry sob.
“Oh, do not give me up,” she cried imploringly. “Let me stay with you. I will serve you faithfully for I love you, and these people are strangers——”
“Think, what it must be after her years of sorrow to clasp her child in her arms; to know that it had been well cared for, tenderly loved. Oh, she is your own mother and you will come to love her dearly. This morningDr. Kendricks was to tell Major Crawford the story. Fifteen minutes ago word came that they would be here. Lilian, your father feels hard toward Mrs. Boyd. You know Dr. Kendricks would have recognized you if she had not taken you away, and it is only natural that he should feel indignant.”
“Must I see him before she—she cannot last long. Oh, she must not hear this, and I will not leave her until the very last.”
Then the child suggested her father.
“There they come,” exclaimed Mrs. Barrington.
The two men entered the drawing room. Lilian clung to Mrs. Barrington, but that lady impelled her forward.
“This is your daughter, Major Crawford,” she said, “and this, my dear, is your own father.”
Lilian stood like a statue. It was as if she was turning to stone. Oh, he could not deny her. The clear cut features, the golden bronze hair, the proud figure that seemed to add dignity to the whole. So, her mother had stood, in girlhood.
“Oh, my child! my child! have you no word of gladness for me after these long years! The baby I never saw—my Marguerite.”
Was her tongue frozen and her lips stiff? Oh, what should she say? How could she welcome this stranger?
“And that cruel woman has stolen your love from us, as she stole your beautiful body. Oh, where is she? Let me see her!”
“You were to keep calm, Major,” exclaimed the doctor. “We have gone over all this, and the poor woman is dying. To upbraid her now would be nothing short of murder.”
The Major glanced wildly around. “Why think ofourloss and sorrow. Sheknewthe child was not hers. And she ran off like a thief in the night. Oh, I can’t forgive her.”
“Oh, you must,” cried the girl with the first gleam of emotion she had shown. “For she mistook the nurse for the mother. Everything must have been in confusion. She thought of me as a motherless baby, perhaps to be cast on charity——”
“But all these years! And poverty, when a lovely home awaited you; brothers and a sweet sister and such a mother! Oh, she ought to know and suffer for the crime.”
“She was almost crazy with her own grief. And she was good and tender and devoted to me. She shall not suffer for it in her dying moments.”
She stood there proudly, her face a-light with a sort of heroic devotion. So her mother would have taken up any wrong. Was he unduly bitter?
“Oh, my darling, have you no love for me? No want for your own sweet mother—”
Something in his pleading tone touched her and his face betrayed strong agitation. His arms seemed to hang listlessly by his side. She took a few steps toward him and then they suddenly clasped her in a vehement embrace.
The doctor glanced at Mrs. Barrington and they both left the room.
“It has been a hard fight,” he said. “He was so enraged at first that I was afraid he would come and have it out with the dying woman. The fact that she knew the child was not hers and yet took it away seemed to stir all the blood in his body. Poor thing—one has to feel sorry for her; but he raged over the privations he thought his child had endured, and her being here in an equivocal position. The Crawfords were always very proud. And one could not expect a girl just in the dawn of womanhood to fly to a stranger’s arms.”
“Yet it took her so by surprise, and she has a proud, reticent nature.”
“Let us go and see Mrs. Boyd.”
Major Crawford felt the girl’s heart beating against his own. He raised the face and kissed it, amid tears, deeply touched.
“You must forgive me. You do not know what it is to have some one stand between you and your child all these years. I used to dream how it would have been with twin girls running about, climbing one’s knees, doing a hundred sweet and tender things. Zay has been so lovely, so loving; but all these years we never forgot you. We gave the most fervent thanks for your mother’s recovery, and when you are safe in her arms—oh, it seems almost as if it was too much joy.”
“It is so strange,” and her voice was tremulous. “For I never could have dreamed of anything like this. I did not dream, for it seemed as if a man who had lost wife and child would want to begin over again, and in a good many ways I tried to believe I had been too visionary—longing for things quite beyond my reach. So I have been praying that God would send what was best for me and trying to make myself content. Oh, are you quite sure there is no mistake?”and there was a pitifully beseeching sound in her voice.
“If we can believe that thief of a woman. Oh, to think she should carry away our baby and leave us her little dead child,” and the only half conquered passion flamed up in his face again.
“But, you see, if I had been the nurse’s child as she thought, the poor nurse who was dead, it would be a brave and tender act——”
“I have no pity for her. You must come away. Oh, Marguerite, there is your own sweet mother, who when she hears will want to clasp you to her heart at once. And Zaidee, your twin sister——”
She shrank and stiffened a little. Zaidee Crawford would not be so glad to welcome her. She felt it in her inmost heart. For she had been the pet and darling of the household all these years. All the girls had paid her a curious sort of homage. She had been invested with a halo of romance, and generous as she seemed with her equals, she had established a rigorous distance between them. Lilian fancied she was annoyed by the suggestion of a resemblance between them.
Her father was momentarily piqued bythe unyielding lines of her figure and the hesitancy.
“Oh, my child you must take in the strength, the absolute reality of our claim, unless you cannot believe this woman—”
“I would stake my very life on her truth, and I can recall so many things that seemed strange to me then, especially these last two years. She so dreaded leaving me alone in the world, and I am not willing to embitter her last moments. You see she never thought of my parents being in a much higher walk in life, and the knowledge that she had kept me out of so much would be a cruel stab. No, let me wait until it is all over, and you have accepted the strange story truly. There are others beside yourself——”
Her eyes were full of tears as she raised them. Itwasnoble to take this view, though he really grudged it.
“You mean then to stay here until—”
“I have promised sacredly, solemnly. There may be some things to certify. Mrs. Barrington spoke of one, that the confession, ought to be signed before witnesses.”
“Yes, though we should never doubt. And if there was any question there might be a legal adoption;” then he paused. His wifehad not heard the story yet. Yes, his anger had hurried him along with scarcely a thought of all that needed to be done. He had dreamed of the joy of bringing the mother and daughter together. Yes, she must be prepared.
“Perhaps you are right,” he admitted, reluctantly. “Yet—oh, how can I leave you. It seems as if the joy would vanish.”
“I do not think I shall vanish,” and she half smiled through her tears.
The doctor came downstairs with a grave face.
“There has been a sudden change. The paralysis has crept upward. She is moaning for you. Go to her.”
Lilian flashed out of the room.
“Are you convinced?” asked the doctor.
“Oh, positively. And what a noble girl! I hate to have her love that woman so, and yet it shows a true and generous nature. Why, I think some girls would have gone wild over the prospect.”
“Mrs. Barrington is enthusiastic about her and she has had a wide experience with girls. But my dear Major, there is a good deal to be done. Your wife must hear the story, and we must considerherhealth, her nervous system must not have too severe a shock. And thisMrs. Boyd must attest her confession in some way. She can hardly speak intelligibly. With your permission, I’ll hunt up Ledwith. It’s best to have everything secure.”
“Yes, yes. And, doctor, I want to apologize for my anger and unreason this morning. Why, we are half brutes after all. I believe I could have almost murdered that woman for stealing my darling baby and sneaking off without a word of inquiry. I do not yet see how Marguerite can forgive her for keeping her out off her birthright all these years; for dragging her through poverty and all kinds of menial labor; and here she was the caretaker’s daughter! Think of it—my child, Zay’s sister! Even now when the child pleads for her so earnestly I cannot really forgive her. Will you pardon me for my outbreak? My child is tenderer and more generous than I.”
“The poor woman has come to the last stages. It is a matter of only a few days. It would be cruel to part them now.”
“You are all against me,” with a sad smile.
“You must go home and explain this matter to Mrs. Crawford, and to your sister. Then send the confession to Ledwith. I will see him. And, oh, I promised to drop in and see Zay. She has some nervous crochet in her head.”
“Is she really ill?” the father asked in alarm.
“She has some cold and a little fever. Don’t excite her.”
They walked away together. The doctor found Zay’s fever much higher and she was in a state of great excitement.
“Oh, what has happened,” she cried. “What was papa so angry about? And you took him away——”
“A matter of business that he could not look at reasonably at first. And it may be a delightful surprise for you, so you must do your utmost to get well. Men have many bothers, my dear.”
“It was not about Vincent?”
“Oh, dear, no. There was a telegram from him. He reached West Point all right, and all is going well. Now, I shall give you a composing draught and order you to sleep all the afternoon.”
“And the fever?” tremulously.
“That’s simply cold and nervousness. You will be about well tomorrow,” and he laughed.
“Mrs. Barrington was—oh, I suppose the girls who stayed had a dull time.”
“I didn’t hear any complaints. I guess they are all right. Don’t you worry about them or anybody.”
If she could hear that Louie Howe was well; maybe Phil would write tomorrow. Oh, she couldn’t be seriously ill or the doctor wouldn’t be so indifferent about it. If she only could go to sleep and forget about the Clairvoyant’s awful den!