CHAPTER XIX.MEMORIES AND RESOLUTIONS.
They carried Catharine Lacy to the station-house. A doctor was sent for, but it was a long time before he came, and when he did arrive, the poor girl refused all assistance, but lay upon her couch, which was worse than a beggar’s, racked with a sense of her utter desolation, till thought caused fever, and fired her whole system with artificial strength.
She spent the night without sleep, and in profound darkness, tortured with visions of her lost child, its pauper grave, and of its father. For the first time she thought of the latter with doubt and bitterness. Had he deserted her? She had read of these things. And her aunt, how cruelly she had taken up the belief of her unworthiness. What had she done to be thus treated by those who should have protected her? Why was she of all human beings selected out for wrong and insult?
These were severe questions for a girl not yet eighteento ask of her own proud spirit, in the degrading darkness of a station-house; and if her soul was filled with bitterness, when it could make no reply, who will wonder or blame her.
It is a terrible thing when a warm, young heart learns to distrust humanity, and is thrown into the world without shield or buckler, to contend with that coarse reality which crushes out all the rich poetry of youth and leaves bitterness in its place. No wonder, poor inexperienced creatures, like Catharine, sometimes become reckless and sin against that society which taunts them onward by cruel and undeserved reproach.
What Catharine might have done, after that night of fearful trial, if left wholly to herself, I cannot say; but God puts no human soul upon this earth to leave it altogether subject to evil influences. When humanity fails, then comes a sweet, low voice from the throne of God, and those who listen grow calm and strong, as flowers brighten beneath the soft dew which visits them in the night-time.
True, Catharine was an orphan, but who knows that the mother who has gone with all her earthly affections to heaven, purified and holy, is not a better guardian to the soul of her child than she ever could have been on earth. No, no, Catharine Lacy was not alone in all that night. Spirits hovered around her, and when waves of bitterness would have rushed over and filled her soul, they were swept aside, leaving the young girl more tranquil and strong of heart than she had been for months.
The heavenly love of a mother, who had partaken of divinity, and that earthly love, which draws us closer to the gates of heaven, had watched over the young girl in her deepest humiliation. Toward morning, she fell asleep, with a fragment of the Lord’s Prayer upon her lips. It seemed to her in that half dreamy state, as if her parents were both listening as they had done years ago, and smiled to think that she was asking help of God once more. All day thepoor girl slept. Once or twice an officer came in to arouse her, but there was something so child-like and happy in her slumber, that he went out again, leaving her undisturbed.
Toward nightfall, Catharine awoke, and after partaking of some coarse food, which the captain of police had ordered for her, she took up her little bundle and prepared to go forth into the streets again.
Her plans were no longer in confusion. She would go to Madame De Marke, and ask the protection denied by her own relative; this was a duty which she certainly owed to De Marke, before throwing herself upon the wide world. She had little hope of conciliating the eccentric old woman, but resolved for his sake to brave the interview. Very slowly, for she was still too feeble for much exertion, Catharine made her way down the city, strengthened by her own steady purpose, and saved from torturous feelings of suspense by the very hopelessness of her project.
It was nightfall before she reached her destination. The dim stairs, over which she trod, creaked gloomily beneath her light footsteps, adding to the evil foreboding that crept closer and closer around her heart, as she entered the shadow of that now half-deserted building.
Her pace grew more rapid as she advanced, for the courage of desperation was upon her; and her knock against the half-closed door of Madame De Marke’s room was clear and firm.
“Who is wanting me?” inquired a snappish voice, and the door was partly opened. “Who is it? you, Jane Kelly? come in, my pet, come in. Is it good news or bad that you bring me? Come in out of the passage. What keeps you hanging back so? Putting on airs, eh? making believe you are in no hurry for the mate to that ear-ring, the sparkler? All fudge and nonsense; just as if I didn’t understand it all. Come in with you—there, there, now lift your veil.”
The old woman had drawn Catharine through the doorwith great eagerness, clutching her arm with those claw-like fingers till the poor child almost called out with pain. She felt that the old woman was trembling with some emotion, which struck her as intense rage, and when her veil was drawn aside it revealed a face so pallid with affright, that for a moment the old woman did not recognize it.
“What? what?” she hissed at last, as the certainty of her identity forced itself upon her, “you alive and here. Oh! ha! she shall pay for this!”
As she spoke, the wretch clutched her hand with a more cruel gripe around the young girl’s arm, and gave her a fierce shake.
“Alive!—you alive and here?” she repeated, “oh! but some one shall pay for this.”
“You hurt me,” said Catharine, shrinking with pain. “I come to you for help; do not harm me!”
“Help! to me for help—you, you!” cried the old woman, drawing back and pointing her lean finger almost into Catharine’s face; “help you shall have. Help to the house of correction. I’ll help you there, certainly. You can depend on me. But where is the baby—the dear little infant; what have you done with that, eh?”
“It is dead!” answered Catharine, with simple pathos. “I am all alone.”
“So the dear little baby is dead, is it? what a pity! There must have been lots of mourners at the funeral. Why didn’t you send for me? I’d a come with pleasure.”
“Don’t,” said Catharine, lifting both her hands, and holding their palms out as if to ward off a blow, “don’t, unless you wish to kill me. It was your son’s child.”
“My son’s child, was it? oh! yes, I remember now. You were married to my son, as you call him, the last time I saw you. Perhaps you will give me another sight of that precious marriage certificate.”
“Don’t ask me for it?” murmured Catharine.
“And why not? I must look at it again and again, before the fact will make itself clear. Come, come, let us see the paper.”
“It is lost!” said Catharine, in a low voice; “there is nothing left but my word to prove that I am really and truly your son’s wife!”