Lizzy Glenn; Or, The Trials of a Seamstress Part 17

"Tell me, quickly, what you mean!" said Perkins, grasping the arm of his friend.

"Be calm, and I will tell you," replied Milford. "About a week ago I learned, by almost an accident, from the transfer clerk in the bank, that the young woman whom we knew as Lizzy Glenn had, early in the fall, come to the bank with certificates of stock, and had them transferred to the Ma.s.sachusetts Insane Hospital, to be held by that inst.i.tution so long as one Hubert Ballantine remained an inmate of its walls."

"Well?" eagerly gasped Perkins.

"I know no more. It is for you to act in the matter; I could not."

Without a moment's delay, Perkins procured a vehicle, and in a little while was at the door of the inst.i.tution.

"Is there a Mr. Ballantine in the asylum?" he asked, in breathless eagerness, of one of the attendants who answered his summons.

"No, sir," was the reply.

"But," said Perkins in a choking voice, "I have been told that there was a man here by that name."

"So there was. But he left here about five days ago, perfectly restored to reason."

Perkins leaned for a moment or two against the wall to support himself. His knees bent under him. Then he asked in an agitated voice--

"Is he in Boston?"

"I do not know. He was from the South, and his daughter has, in all probability, taken him home."

"Where did they go when they left here?"

But the attendant could not tell. Nor did any one in the inst.i.tution know. The daughter had never told her place of residence.

Excited beyond measure, Perkins returned to Boston, and went to see Berlaps. From him he could learn nothing. It was two months or so since she had been there for work. Michael was then referred to; he knew nothing, but he had a suspicion that Mrs. Gaston got work for her.

"Mrs Gaston!" exclaimed Perkins, with a look of astonishment. "Who is Mrs. Gaston?"

"She is one of our seamstresses," replied Berlaps.

"Where does she live?"

The direction was given, and the young man hurried to the place. But the bird had flown. Five or six days before, she had gone away in a carriage with a young lady who had been living with her, so it was said, and no one could tell what had become of her or her children.

Confused, perplexed, anxious, and excited, Perkins turned away and walked slowly home, to give himself time to reflect. His first fear was that Eugenia and her father, for he had now no doubt of their being the real actors in this drama, had really departed for New Orleans. The name of Mrs. Gaston, as being in a.s.sociation with the young woman calling herself Lizzy Glenn, expelled from his mind every doubt. That was the name of the friend in Troy with whom Eugenia had lived while there. It was some years since he had visited or heard particularly from Troy, and therefore this was the first intimation he had that Mrs. Gaston had removed form there, or that her situation had become so desperate as the fact of her working for Berlaps would indicate.

CHAPTER XII.

PERKINS FINDS IN LIZZY GLENN HIS LONG LOST EUGENIA.

AFTER Eugenia Ballantine, for she it really was, had removed to the humble abode of Mrs. Gaston, her mind was comparatively more at ease than it yet had been. In the tenderly manifested affection of one who had been a mother to her in former, happier years, she found something upon which to lean her bruised and wearied spirits. Thus far, she had been compelled to bear up alone--now there was an ear open to her, and her overburdened heart found relief in sympathy.

There was a bosom upon which she could lean her aching head, and find a brief but blessed repose. Toward the end of January, her father's symptoms changed rapidly, indicating one day more alarming features than ever, and the next presenting an encouraging aspect.

The consequence was, that the mind of Eugenia became greatly agitated. Every day she repaired to the Asylum, with a heart trembling between hope and fear, to return sometimes with feelings of elation, and sometimes deeply depressed.

On the day after Dr. R--had promised to go to Lexington to look after Mrs. Gaston's little boy, the mother's anxious desire to see her child, from whom she had heard not a word for nearly three months, became so strong that she could with difficulty compose herself so far as to continue her regular employments. She counted the hours as they slowly wore away, thinking that the moment would never come when her eyes should rest upon her dear boy. As the doctor had not said at what hour he would return from Lexington, there was no period in the day upon which she could fix her mind as that in which she might expect to see her child; but she a.s.sumed that it would not be until the after part of the day, and forward to that time she endeavored to carry her expectations.

When Doctor R--parted with her, as has been seen, on the day previous, he was exquisitely pained under the conviction that the child he had met with in Lexington in so deplorable a condition was none other than the son of Mrs. Gaston, who had been put out to Mr.

Sharp at his instance. Hastily visiting a few patients that required immediate attention, he, very soon after parting with Mrs. Gaston, started in a sleigh for the town in which Henry had been apprenticed. On his arrival there, and before he had proceeded far along the main street, he observed the child he had before met, toiling along under a heavy burden. His clothes were soiled and ragged, and his hands and face dirty--indeed, he presented an appearance little or nothing improved from what it was a short time before. Driving close up to the side-walk upon which the boy was staggering along under his heavy load, he reined up his horses, and called out, as he did so--

"Henry!"

The lad stopped instantly, and turned toward him, recognizing him as he did so.

"Don't you want to see your mother, Henry?" asked the doctor.

The bundle under which he was toiling fell to the ground, and he stood in mute surprise for a moment or two.

"What is your name?" Doctor R--asked.

"Henry Gaston," replied the child.

"Then jump in here, Henry, and I will take you to see your mother."

The boy took two or three quick steps toward the doctor, and then stopped suddenly and looked back at the load which had just fallen from his shoulders.

"Never mind that. Let Mr. Sharp look after it," said Doctor R--.

"But he will--," and Henry hesitated.

"Jump in, quick, my little fellow; and say good-bye in your heart to Mr. Sharp! You shall never go back there again."

The child sprang eagerly forward at this, and clambered into Doctor R--'s sleigh. A word to the horses, and away they were bounding toward Boston. When Doctor R--arrived there, his mind was made up, as it had been, indeed, before he started, not to take Henry home to his mother that day. He saw that it would be too cruel to present the child to her in the condition he was; and, besides, he felt that, after having procured for him the situation, he could not look the mother in the face with her abused child in all the deformity of his condition before them. He, therefore, took Henry to his own home; had him well washed, and dressed in a suit of comfortable clothing. The change produced in him was wonderful. The repulsive-looking object became an interesting boy; though with a pale, thin face, and a subdued, fearful look. He was very anxious to see his mother; but Doctor R--, desirous of making as great a change in the child's appearance and manner as possible, kept him at his house all night, and until the afternoon of the next day. Then he took him to his eagerly expectant mother.

Mrs. Gaston had waited and waited with all the patience and fort.i.tude she could summon, hour after hour, until the afternoon had advanced far toward evening. So anxious and restless had she now become, that she could no longer sit at her work. She had been standing at the window looking out and watching each approaching vehicle for some time, until she felt sick from constantly awakening hope subsiding in disappointment, when she turned away, and, seating herself by the bed, buried her face despondingly in the pillow. She had been sitting thus only a minute or two, when a slight noise at the door caused her to lift her head and turn in that direction.

There stood a boy, with his eyes fixed upon her. For an instant she did not know him. Suffering, and privation, and cruel treatment had so changed him, even after all the doctor's efforts to eradicate their sad effects, that the mother did not at first recognize her own child, until his plaintive voice, uttering her name, fell upon her ear. A moment more, and he was in her arms, and held tightly to her bosom. Her feelings we will not attempt to describe, when he related in his own artless and pathetic manner, all and more than the reader knows in regard to his treatment at Mr. Sharp's, too sadly confirmed by the change im the whole expression of his face.

While her mind was yet excited with mingled feelings of joy and pain, Eugenia came in from her regular visit to her father. Her step was quicker, her countenance more cheerful and full of hope.

"Oh, Mrs. Gaston!" she said, clasping her hands together, "my father is so much better to-day, and they begin to give me great hopes of his full restoration. But who is this? Not your little Henry?"

"Yes, this is my poor, dear boy, whom I have gotten back once more,"

Mrs. Gaston said, the tears glistening upon her eyelids.

After a few words to, and in relation to Henry, the thoughts of Eugenia went off again to her father, and she spoke many things in regard to him, all of which bore a highly encouraging aspect. For the three or four days succeeding this, Mr. Ballantine showed stronger and stronger indications of returning reason; his daughter was almost beside herself with hope and joy.

Earlier than usual, one day about the second week in February, she went over to the asylum to pay her accustomed visit. She was moving on, after having entered the building, in the direction of the apartment occupied by her father, when an attendant stepped up, and touching her arm in a respectful manner, said--

"This direction, if you please."

There was something in the manner of the attendant that seemed to Eugenia a little mysterious, but she followed as he led the way. He soon paused at the door of an apartment, and half whispering in her ear said--