WHAT WAS PUT IN THE IRON BOX.
The mother's vigil with her child on this last night was fraught with
conflicting emotions of agony and rebellion. Upon Dr. Spenlove's
departure she rose and dressed herself completely, all her thoughts
and feelings being so engrossed by the impending separation that she
took no heed of her damp clothes. She entertained no doubt that the
renunciation was imperative and in the interests of her babe; nor did
she doubt that the man who had dictated it was acting in simple
justice to himself and perhaps in a spirit of mercy toward her; but
she was in no mood to regard with gratitude one who in the most dread
crisis in her life had saved her from destruction. The cause of this
injustice lay in the fact that until this moment the true maternal
instinct had not been awakened within her breast. As she had
faithfully expressed it to Dr. Spenlove the birth of her babe had
filled her with terror and with a loathing of herself. Had there been
no consequences of her error apparent to the world she would have
struggled on and might have been able to preserve her good name; her
dishonor would not have been made clear to censorious eyes; but the
living evidence of her shame was by her side, and, left to her own
resources, she had conceived the idea that death was her only refuge.
Her acceptance of the better course that had been opened for her
loosened the floodgates of tenderness for the child who was soon to be
torn from her arms. Love and remorse shone in her eyes as she knelt by
the bedside and fondled the little hands and kissed the innocent lips.
"Will you not wake, darling," she murmured, "and let me see your dear
eyes? Wake, darling, wake! Do you not know what is going to happen?
They are going to take you from me. We may never meet again--and if we
do you have not even a name by which I can call you! But perhaps that
will not matter. Surely you will know your mother, surely I shall know
my child, and we shall fly to each other's arms! I want to tell you
all this--I want you to hear it. Wake, sweet, sweet!"
The child slept on. Presently she murmured:
"It is hard, it is hard! How can God permit such cruelty?"
Half an hour passed in this way, and then she became more composed.
Her mind, which had been unbalanced by her misfortunes, recovered its
equilibrium, and she could reason with comparative calmness upon the
future. In sorrow and pain she mentally mapped out the years to come.
She saw her future, as she believed, a joyless life, a life of cold
duty. She would not entertain the possibility of a brighter side--the
possibility of her becoming reconciled to her fate, of her growing to
love her husband, of her having other children who would be as dear to
her as this one was. In the state of her feelings it seemed to her
monstrous to entertain such ideas, a wrong perpetrated upon the babe
she was deserting. In dogged rebellion she hugged misery to her
breast, and dwelt upon it as part of the punishment she had brought
upon herself. There was no hope of happiness for her in the future,
there was no ray of light to illumine her path. Forever would she be
thinking of the child for whom she now, for the first time since its
birth, felt a mother's love, and who was henceforth to find a home
among strangers.
In this hopeless fashion did she muse for some time, and then a star
appeared in her dark sky. She might, as she had suggested to Dr.
Spenlove, survive her husband; it was more than possible--it was
probable; and though there was in the contemplation a touch of treason
toward the man who had come to her rescue, she derived satisfaction
from it. In the event of his death she must adopt some steps to prove
that the child was hers, and that she, and she alone, had the sole
right to her. No stranger should keep her darling from her, should rob
her of her reward for the sufferings she had undergone. It was for
this reason that she had asked Dr. Spenlove for the iron box.
It was a compact, well-made box, and very heavy for its size. Any
person receiving it as a precious deposit under the conditions she
imposed might, when it was in his possession, reasonably believe that
it contained mementoes of price, valuable jewels, perhaps, which she
wished her child to wear when she grew to womanhood. She had no such
treasure. Unlocking the box, she took from her pocket a letter, which
she read with a bitterness which displayed itself strongly in her
face, which made her quiver with passionate indignation.
"The villain!" she muttered. "If he stood before me I would strike him
dead at my feet!"
There was no lingering accent of tenderness in her voice. For the
father of her child she had only feelings of hatred and scorn. Clearly
she was a woman of strong passions, a woman who could love and hate in
no niggardly fashion.
She tore the letter down in two uneven strips, and placed one strip in
the box; the other she folded carefully and returned to her pocket.
Then she locked the box, and tying the key with a piece of string,
hung it round her neck and allowed it to fall, hidden in her bosom.
"If there is justice in heaven," she muttered, "a day will come!"
The portion of the letter which she had deposited in the box read as
follows:
"My Darling:
"My heart is
dear girl that I do no
can express my feelings
would be powerless to ex
will show my deep love in
life shall be devoted to t
of making you happy. Neve
have occasion for one moment
that you have consented to be
I have thoroughly convinced yo
marriage with Mr. Gordon would b
of bringing the deepest misery up
be truly a living death. With me
be filled with love and sunshine. N
be allowed to darken it. As your p
as your devoted husband, I solemnly sw
will forever shield and guard you. In
hours our new and joyful life will be com
Meet me to-morrow night at the appointed p
and be careful not to whisper a word of you
flight to a living soul. The least suspicion
certainly ruin your happiness and mine. And
sure that you burn this letter as you have bur
With fond and everlasting love, believe me, my o
be forever and ever your faithful and constant l
Putting the iron box on the table she sat by the bedside, her eyes
fixed upon her child. Her thoughts, shaped in words, ran somewhat in
this fashion:
"In a few hours she will be taken from me; in a few short hours we
shall be separated, and then, and then--ah! how can I think of it?--an
ocean of waters will divide us. She will not miss me, she does not
know me. She will receive another woman's endearments; she will never
bestow a thought upon me, her wretched mother, and I--I shall be
forever thinking of her! She is all my own now; presently I shall have
no claim upon her. Would it not be better to end it as I had
intended--to end it now, this moment?" She rose to her feet, and stood
with her lips tightly pressed and her hands convulsively clenched; and
then she cried in horror: "No, no! I dare not--I dare not! It would be
murder, and he said that God would not forgive me. Oh, my darling, my
darling, it is merciful that you are a baby, and do not know what is
passing in my mind! If you do not love me now you may in the future,
when I shall be free, and then you shall feel how different is a
mother's love from the love of a strange woman. But how shall I
recognize you if you are a woman before we meet again; how shall I
prove to you, to the world, that you are truly mine? Your eyes will be
black, as mine are, and your hair, I hope, will be as dark, but there
are thousands like that. I am grateful that you resemble me, and not
your base father, whom I pray God to strike and punish. Oh, that it
were ever in my power to repay him for his treachery, to say to him,
'As you dragged me down so do I drag you down! As you ruined my life
so do I ruin yours!' But I cannot hope for that. The woman weeps, the
man laughs. Never mind, child, never mind. If in future years we are
reunited it will be happiness enough. Dark hair, black eyes, small
hands and feet--oh, darling, darling!" She covered the little hands
and feet with kisses. "And yes, yes"--with feverish eagerness she
gazed at the child's neck--"these two tiny moles, like those on my
neck--I shall know you, I shall know you, I shall be able to prove
that you are my daughter."
With a lighter heart she resumed her seat, and set to work mending the
infant's scanty clothing, which she fondled and kissed as though it
had sense and feeling. A church clock in the distance tolled five; she
had been listening for the hour, hoping it was earlier.
"Five o'clock," she muttered. "I thought it was not later than three.
I am being robbed. Oh, if time would only stand still! Five o'clock.
In seven hours she will be taken from me. Seven hours--seven short
hours! I will not close my eyes."
But after a while her lids dropped, and she was not conscious of it.
The abnormal fatigues of the day and night, the relaxing of the
overstrung nerves, the warmth of the room, produced their effect; her
head sank upon the bed, and she fell into a dreamful sleep.
It was merciful that her dreaming fancies were not drawn from the
past. The psychological cause of her slumbers being beguiled by bright
visions may be found in the circumstance that, despite the conflicting
passions to which she had proved she was too prone to yield, the
worldly ease which was secured to her and her child by Mr. Gordon's
offer had removed a heavy weight from her heart. In her visions she
saw her baby grow into a happy girlhood, she had glimpses of holiday
times when they were together in the fields, or by the seaside, or
walking in the glow of lovely sunsets, gathering flowers in the hush
of the woods, or winding their way through the golden corn. From
girlhood to womanhood in these fair dreams her baby passed, and happy
smiles wreathed the lips of the woe-worn woman as she lay in her poor
garments on the humble bed by the side of her child.
"Do you love me, darling?" asked the sleeping mother.
"Dearly, dearly," answered the dream child. "With my whole heart,
mother."
"Call me mother again. It is like the music of the angels."
"Mother--mother!"
"You will love me always, darling?"
"Always, mother; forever and ever and ever."
"Say that you will never love me less, that you will never forget me."
"I will never love you less. I will never forget you."
"Darling child, how beautiful you are! There is not in the world a
lovelier woman. It is for me to protect and guard you. I can do so--I
have had experience. Come--let us rest."
They sat upon a mossy bank, and the mother folded her arms around her
child, who lay slumbering on her breast.
There had been a few blissful days in this woman's life, during which
she had believed in man's faithfulness and God's goodness, but the
dreaming hours she was now enjoying were fraught with a heavenly
gladness. Nature and dreams are the fairies of the poor and the
afflicted.
She awoke as the church clock chimed eight. Again had she to face the
stern realities of life. The sad moment of separation was fast
approaching.