The Girls at Mount Morris by Amanda Minnie Douglas (rooftoppers .txt) 📖

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 was a 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 saw Mr. 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 it _is_ best;" 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, you _will_ stay 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, so tired! 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 except that this seems more pathetic. There is no doubt of the truth in my mind. Of course _she_ saw 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 X

UNRAVELING 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 they thought 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