ENEMIES MEETING.
The young widow still remained in the breakfast-room, sitting by the
little boy, who slept peacefully upon a sofa. As she looked up from the
beautiful face, so warm and rosy with sleep, her eyes fell upon this
singular woman, who stood within the hall, looking keenly at her from
the shelter of her huge, old-fashioned bonnet.
The impression made upon this young woman was quite unlike that left
upon the group in the library. A look of profound surprise, not
unmingled with amusement at the strange figure which presented itself,
came over her face, for she had recovered her child and was disposed to
cheerful thoughts.
“The people are all in another part of the house,” she said, pleasantly,
“but here is a trifle, if you require help.”
The woman came forward, with a chuckle, and seized upon the piece of
silver so kindly offered.
“Ha, ha—I am rolling in gold, rolling in it, do you see. But as for
help, the more one has, the more one wants help. I have a cat and three
chickens at home, that’ll be the better for what you give them. As for
me, I can make my bed of gold and feel it soft. Oh! ha, that’s a pretty
boy you’ve got there.”
The young mother was gratified. The woman before her became less
grotesque. Maternal love was beginning to soften even her evil exterior.
“Yes,” said the gentle matron, “he is a darling. If you could but see
his eyes now. Wait a moment. He stirs!”
“Ah! I can wait to see his eyes, dear little rogue. How white his
forehead is! What curls, brown as a chestnut, with a touch of gold in
it. Ah, there lies the beauty. Gold, gold, I should like to see it
everywhere.”
As she spoke, the old woman crept close to the sofa, and began to lift
the curls, which lay on the child’s temple, with her claw-like fingers.
As she did this, the widow, who was looking on rather anxiously, for she
recoiled from the sight of those hooked finger-nails so close to the
snowy forehead of her child, saw for the first time what looked like the
shadow of a ruby cross upon the boy’s temple, the top running up among
the curls, which, strangely enough, did not grow upon the spot, but only
sheltered it from casual scrutiny.
“It is the mark of his fingers. He always sleeps with his hand under his
head,” observed the widow, with a vague feeling of awe. “His skin is so
delicate, the touch of a rose-leaf makes it flush.”
“Pretty though, isn’t it?” said the old woman, with a sharp laugh.
“Everything about him is beautiful to me,” said the young woman, gazing
fondly on the child.
“Eddie, my darling—has he slept enough?”
The little fellow, fully aroused at last from his sweet slumber, turned
upon his cushion and began to rub both little fists into his eyes, while
his lips parted like the sudden unfolding of a rose-bud.
“Mamma!”
The little fellow rose to a sitting posture and held out his arms.
“My darling!”
“Dear little fellow. Never mind, come to aunty,” interposed the strange
woman, reaching forth her arms, that fell around the child like a pair
of flails.
The boy struggled and wrung himself free from this unwelcome embrace.
“Let me alone,” he said, clenching his tiny fist, and stamping fiercely
upon the sofa-cushion, “I don’t want beggar-women to touch me!”
“Beggar!” cried the woman, with a shrill laugh. “Ah! that’s a nice joke,
my darling. Beggar! I’ve half a mind to shake you where you stand.
Beggar! Oh! it’s a sweet child. Of course it’s your own, ma’am?”
This question was put with startling abruptness, accompanied by a sharp,
scrutinizing glance, that drove the blood from the fair cheek it
searched.
“Mine, of course. Yes, of course,” faltered the lady, drawing the boy
toward her with both arms. “Mine, yes, yes, whose else? What do you
mean, woman?”
Her voice was sharp with anxiety. Her soft eyes turned a startled gaze
on that grim face, which looked to her like that of a fiend.
“Oh! of course, why not? he looks like you, don’t he? Of course, who
doubts it?” mocked the woman.
“Go away, go away, beggar-woman,” cried the child, clinging to his
mother’s neck with one arm, and clenching his right hand with puny
courage. “Don’t look at my mamma so. Don’t speak to her. Go away, or
I’ll, I’ll—yes, I will—so there now!”
Here the little hero burst into tears, and hid his face upon his
mother’s shoulder.
“What do you want, woman?” inquired the young matron, rising with the
boy in her arms. “If you wish to see the gentleman of the house, he is
engaged. I do not live here. Let me pass.”
“Let me have another look at the darling, just a peep into his eyes, I’m
so fond of children,” said the woman, with wheedling softness, that was
far more disgusting than her rudeness had been. “I want him to know me,
bless his pretty face!”
“Let me pass!” insisted the widow, beginning to feel terrified, “I do
not wish him to look at you.”
“Oh! that’s cruel now, and the boy so like his father!”
“So like his father! Did you know him, then?”
“I did not know your husband; but I did know this child’s father,” was
the answer.
“No! you did not—you could not. The thing is quite impossible. No one
ever knew him.”
The old woman laughed. “I must have another look,” she said, attempting
to seize upon the child, who uttered a sudden cry.
Presently a form came leaping through the hall, uttering a shriek with
every bound. Her hair streamed backward, her eyes blazed, her arms were
outstretched. She rushed forward, like a bird of prey with its spoil in
sight. Her hands fell with a clutch upon that meagre woman, shaking her
in every limb as they seized upon her shoulders.
“Ha! ha! I have found you at last,” cried she, “touch him, touch him,
oh! touch him, and I’ll—”
Elsie paused a moment, and stealing both hands slowly from the shoulders
to the throat of the old woman, clutched it, turning her head backward
and saying to Catharine, “May I? shall I? She has grown into a fiend;
let me choke her.”
She pleaded for permission to kill that woman as a mother pleads for the
life of a child. The insane lustre of her eyes grew brighter, her pale
hands quivered eagerly about the lean throat upon which they had not yet
firmly closed. She was pleading for permission to kill the woman as if
she had been a serpent.
Catharine came up, terrified but firm. Her clear blue eyes were fixed
steadily on those of the maniac, her slender form erected itself into
command.
“Come,” she said, “leave this woman; she belongs to God.”
“Why don’t he kill her then?” hissed the maniac, striving to evade
Catharine’s glance.
“Because he is, perhaps, punishing her with life.”
“But it would be so pleasant to kill her!” pleaded Elsie, “and I will.
Nobody gives me any happiness. I will take it for myself.”
Even in her peril, for it was imminent, the strange woman did not lose
her craft. She managed to fix her eyes, cold and sharp as steel, upon
the glittering orbs of her enemy.
“See, stoop down and I’ll tell you something,” she said, in a voice that
gave no evidence of the terror that shook her heart.
Elsie looked down into the cold depths of her eyes, and her head bent
slowly forward like a bird that is charmed to death.
“Of him? Will you tell me?” she whispered.
“He wishes to see you. He sent me to ask if he might come. Let me go,
and I will bring him.”
“Where is he?” whispered Elsie. “I heard him crying in the woods last
night, crying out so mournfully; but I knew the reason; he had lost the
child. Oh! how one cries out who has lost a child! But I found it. Ha!
ha! I found it! and let him wail on. No wonder he complained all night,
it is very lonesome to be without one’s child. Do you think he will moan
every night till the boy goes back?”
“He will come and ask you to stay with him,” said the crafty wretch,
drawing a deep breath as she felt the pale hands unclasp from her
throat.
“But you will not go—you will stay here, or sail off over the seas away,
away. Yes, yes, I will go down into the woods. Turn your face to the
east and I will go westward. One, two graves shall be under the setting
sun, canopied with clouds of crimson and amber and pale green, all
floating, floating, floating. But you—you shall die alone, alone,
alone!”
Her hands dropped away from the trembling creature, and were flung
triumphantly upward. Her voice rose and swelled into a sort of chant,
and as she passed through the hall, the words, “Alone, alone, alone,”
came back with a mournful emphasis that made even that bad woman turn
pale.