The Girls at Mount Morris Part 26

Then he and the Major set out together, meeting Mr. Ledwith at the school. The doctor went upstairs. Lilian met him with anxious eyes.

"Yes, there has been a great change. She has gone more rapidly than I thought. Can she speak?"

"Hardly. Now and then a word. Yet she understands all that I say to her," Lilian returned, gravely. "But she was quite restless during the night."

He nodded. "You see, my dear Miss Boyd--you will be that until you take your new name, the confession has no signature. It might never be called in question but sometimes, years afterward, in the various changes of property, it might be necessary to establish a legal ident.i.ty. Can you make her understand this? And you can attest most of her story. I will call up Mr. Ledwith. And your father is most desirous of being present. He will make no trouble."

She went out in the hall to meet him.

"My dear," he said, "I am more reasonable than I was yesterday. Your lovely mother has placed some views in a different light, and she is most glad that you have never lacked for a fervent love and care. And we both forgive her."

"Oh, thank you for that. Though Mrs. Barrington advises that she had better not be told of the discovery. You see she is so tranquil now, knowing that I am provided for."

Then they entered the room. Mrs. Boyd scarcely noticed them, but her eyes questioned Lilian, who began to explain, holding the poor hand in hers. Mrs. Boyd seemed confused at first, then she said with some difficulty--"Yes, yes."

Lilian and Miss Arran pillowed her up in a sitting posture and placed the material on a portable desk.

"It is just to sign your name."

She seemed to listen as Mr. Ledwith read the affadavit, and nodded, with her eyes on Lilian, who put the pen in her hand, but she could not clasp it.

"I think you will have to guide it. She does not understand."

Lilian took the poor shaking hand in hers, and the sick woman looked up into her face and smiled.

It was written, but even Lilian's hand shook a little. "Emma Eliza Boyd."

"That is all, dear," said the girl.

She made a great effort to articulate, and her eyes had a frightened look in them. "You--will not--go?"

"Oh, no, no," returned Lilian, with a kiss.

"Tired--tired," she gasped.

They laid her down and gave her a spoonful of stimulant but she only swallowed a little of it.

The others left the room. Dr. Kendricks shook his head slowly. Mr.

Ledwith gave the last page of the confession to Major Crawford. Lilian sat on the side of the bed, chafing the cool hands that had grown more helpless since yesterday, and presently Mrs. Boyd slept, but one could hardly note the breathing.

Mrs. Barrington looked in and beckoned to Lilian.

"Your own mother is here," she said softly. "And I feel like putting in another claim, but I cannot displace the rightful one. You will find her in the library."

Lilian went slowly down. The beautiful woman she had seen in church, the woman who had lain like dead when Mrs. Boyd glanced upon her, the mother who had missed her all these years! The tall figure rose with the softness of a cloud longing to embrace the moon, with arms outstretched, and the child went to them in the caress of divine satisfaction. For this was the mother of her dreams and ideals, and their souls were as one.

They kissed away each other's tears.

"I felt that I _must_ come, that I _must_ see you. But I am not going to take you away, much as I long for you, since you have a sacred duty here. When that is finished we will begin our lives together. At first, your father was mad with jealousy that _she_ should have dared to love you so much, but now he is glad as I am that you did not suffer from coldness or indifference. That would have broken my heart."

"And I am afraid I did not always return love for love. I was always dreaming, desiring something I had not. She worked for me all those early years. I had resolved as soon as was possible to be her caretaker, to put in her life the things she desired, whether they pleased me or not. It did not take much to make her happy."

"And no man can understand the longing of a woman's soul when her child has been torn from her arms. Poor empty arms, that no prayer can fill.

And this was why she s.n.a.t.c.hed at the baby, believing it was motherless.

Yes, I forgave her and so did he when he came to look at it in the true light. Some women, when times pressed hard in work and poverty, would have placed you in an inst.i.tution----"

"Oh, I think she would have starved first!" interrupted the girl, vehemently.

"And now, if G.o.d grants it, we may have a long, satisfying life together. For He has given me back my health like a miracle, as we had thought it could never be, and were quite resigned. And now He has restored all that we missed, given us the oil of joy for mourning. Oh, child, let me look at you. As a baby you were so different from Zaidee, it hardly seemed as if you could be twins; and you are taller, yes, you are more like Willard. But you have my eyes, and I never was fairy-like.

Oh, I hope you girls will love each other, and I want you to love me with all your heart to make up for those years that have fallen out of our lives."

The exquisitely soft, silvery laugh was music to the girl's heart. Yes, this was the ideal mother. Was there some secret quality in heredity, after all?

They talked on and on. She wanted to hear more particulars of her daughter's life, but Lilian softened some of the roughest places, the fights she had had with herself, when she felt she must give up her cherished school, the pleasure of coming to an atmosphere like this, the warm interest of Mrs. Barrington.

"And now I must leave you," said the mother, "but I take with me a delightful hope. When your duty is done here, and I appreciate your doing it, you will find your true home in my heart and my home. Oh, I think you will never be able to understand all my joy."

She rose and wiped away her tears. Yes, she was beautiful enough to adore. Her own mother! It thrilled every pulse.

"Oh, my dear, let us both thank G.o.d for this restoration. It is like a heavenly dream. I must have time to get used to it."

Lilian watched her as she stepped into the phaeton, with its handsome bays and the silver mountings. And Zaidee could have every wish gratified; friends, music, travel. It was there for her, also. She had never dreamed of that.

CHAPTER XIII

A MOTHER'S LOVE

Mrs. Boyd had not stirred. Lilian bent over her and found the breathing very faint. Miss Arran sat by the window and merely glanced up. The girl buried her face in the pillow and heard again the soft, finely modulated voice, the clasp of the hand that meant so much, the promise for tomorrow.

"If they were not so rich," her musings ran, "If I could do something for her. Oh, it seems too much. If we could go away--but to face all the girls, to hear the comments."

"Miss Boyd, can you spare me a few moments," said Mrs. Dane. "Mrs. Arran will watch."

Lilian followed to Mrs. Dane's room.

"Miss Boyd, I have an apology to make to you, and I am honest enough to confess it. I can't just tell why, but I did take a dislike to you and your mother. She seemed very weak and as if she was afraid a baleful secret might come to light, and you were the master mind holding some curious power over her."

"Oh, it was not that," cried Lilian, eagerly. "It was because in her simple life she had not been accustomed to the usages that obtained in the larger world. Often I did guide her a little. She was very timid."

"And it seemed to me--of course I understand it now, that you held your head quite too high for your mother's daughter. I was brought up to do my duty in that station of life to which it should please G.o.d to call me, and not try to get out of it. You seemed above it--somehow----"

"Oh, did I act that way? I was only trying to do _my_ duty to the cla.s.ses and to Mrs. Barrington. I did not mean to seem above my station," and there was sob in her voice.

"My dear, don't cry. My apology would not be worth half so much if I held back part of the price. I think I was a little jealous of Mrs.

Barrington's favor for you, as I had a curious suspicion that something not quite orthodox might come out about you, that you really were not her child. You see I was not so far out of the way after all, and that evening I accused you of having gone to the Clairvoyants--we had just heard the death was from malignant scarlet fever. It would have ruined the school for a long while to have it break out here, you know. If the person had come out in the open so that I could have seen, but her darting back, and I think there was more than one. It seems even now as if it did look like you, but it might have been because it was like the Tam you wore. And you appeared so embarra.s.sed over it."