A DISCOVERY.
Hannah Martin had never been much of a traveller. It was years since
she set her foot inside a railway carriage. She often boasted of her
abnormal lack of nerves, but she was also heard to say that accidents
by rail were fearful and common, and likely to happen at any moment.
She sighed for the old coaching days, and hated the thought of all
locomotives propelled by steam. Nevertheless, early in the morning of
the day following her interview with Primrose, Hannah, in her usual
neat print dress, was seen to enter the little railway station at
Rosebury, was observed to purchase for herself a third-class return
ticket, and after carefully selecting her carriage, to depart for
London.
In the afternoon of that same day Hannah reached her destination, and
securing the first porter whose attention she could arrest, she placed
a bit of paper in his hand, and asked him to direct her to the address
written upon it. The man screwed up his eyes, stared at the paper,
and suggested that Hannah should place herself in a hansom, and direct
the driver to take her to Park Lane. Hannah had not an idea what a
hansom meant; she had never visited London since her early days. She
stared with horror at the proposed vehicle, and finally selecting the
creakiest and most uninviting of the four-wheelers, drove off to her
destination.
Mrs. Ellsworthy was enjoying some very fragrant tea in her little
boudoir when a servant announced that a person of the name of Martin
had come up from the country in a four-wheeler, and would be glad to
see her as soon as possible.
"What kind of person, Henry?" asked the little lady. "I am very tired
just now, and I must go out to dinner in less than two hours. A person
from the country in a four-wheeler? What can she want with me?"
"She seems a respectable sort of body, ma'am," answered the footman,
"but nervous and shaky, and mortal afraid to step out of the cab; the
cabby and me we had both to lend her a hand in alighting, ma'am. She's
sitting now in a chair in the hall, and I can see she's upset with her
journey, but _respectable_; there's no word for the neatness of her
person, ma'am."
"She is probably poor, and wants me to help her," replied Mrs.
Ellsworthy. "I hate seeing beggars, for I find it absolutely
impossible to say _no_ to them. Show her up, Henry, and give her a
hint that I'm going out to dinner, and can only spare her a very few
moments."
Hannah could not certainly be accused when she entered Mrs.
Ellsworthy's room, of any want of nerves. Her hands were shaking, her
lips were tremulous, and her face, as she entered the room, became
perfectly white.
"You'll excuse me, ma'am," she said. "I'm most sorry to trouble you,
but I'm that anxious, I scarce know what I'm doing. I undertook a
railway journey--which I don't think right--and I came here through
most crowded streets in a dreadful vehicle, for I just wanted to ask
you a single question, ma'am."
"Sit down, my poor woman," said Mrs. Ellsworthy, who, the moment she
looked at Hannah, began to have a dim sort of idea that she had seen
her before, and also became full of pity for her. "Sit down. How you
tremble! I am sorry to see you are so nervous."
"Nervous, ma'am!" echoed Hannah. "That I should hear that said of me!
No, ma'am, it ain't nervous I am, but I'm rather worried with the
tremblings during the last few hours. I've come to ask you a plain
question, ma'am, plain and direct. It's about the young man Mr. Noel.
Have he, ma'am, or have he not, a mole on his left arm? I'd like yes
or no, ma'am."
"A mole on his left arm!" echoed Mrs. Ellsworthy. "My good woman, what
a very extraordinary question; you really quite startle me. Has Arthur
Noel a mole on his left arm? Yes, of course he has; I used to notice
it when he was a child. I suppose people don't outgrow moles, so he
probably has it still. Why, Mrs. Martin--I am told your name is
Martin--how very white you are. Would you--would you like a glass of
wine?"
"Thank you, ma'am--no wine, thank you, ma'am. I'm a bit upset. Yes,
I'm a bit upset, for I believe Mr. Arthur Noel is my long-lost baby."
The footman downstairs had given Mrs. Martin careful directions not to
occupy more than a moment or two of his mistress's valuable time; but
though he waited on the stairs and lingered about in the
entrance-hall, no bell summoned him to show out this remarkable
visitor. An hour passed away, an hour and a half, and still Mrs.
Martin remained in close conversation with Mrs. Ellsworthy. At the end
of the hour and a half Henry looked earnestly at the clock, sighed,
and felt that it was his duty to go into the room to let Mrs.
Ellsworthy know that she would be late for her dinner-party. He found
that good lady sitting by her writing-table with very flushed cheeks
and tearful eyes, and Hannah standing in quite a familiar attitude by
her side.
"Give this note to Mr. Ellsworthy when he comes in, Henry, and order
the carriage to be brought round directly. I am not going to dine out
to-night. I will just go upstairs to change my bonnet. And Henry, take
Mrs. Martin down to the servants' hall, and give her some dinner. She
is coming out with me in the carriage, so be quick, please."
As Mrs. Ellsworthy stood before her glass re-arranging her toilet her
maid saw her wiping some tears from her pretty eyes.
"Oh, my bonny Arthur," she said under her breath. "Oh, what your poor,
poor mother must have suffered."
When the carriage came to the door Mrs. Ellsworthy gave the coachman
Noel's address, and the two women drove there at once. They were
fortunate in finding the young man within. He too was engaged to dine
out that night, but he did not go. Hannah, Mrs. Ellsworthy, and he had
a long conference, which lasted until late in the evening, and when
Mr. Ellsworthy joined them he was told a very wonderful story. Hannah
returned to Devonshire on the following morning very well pleased with
her successful expedition.
"If there had been any doubt," she said to herself, as she was being
whirled homewards in her third-class carriage, "if there had been any
doubt after the sight of that mole on his dear, blessed arm, why, the
little shirt which Mrs. Ellsworthy showed me, and which she took off
his back herself after them horses had all but killed him, would prove
that he's my own boy. Could I ever forget marking that shirt in
cross-stitch, and making such a bungle over the A, and thinking I'd
put Mainwaring in full, and then getting lazy, and only making the
mark A.M.? Well, I was served out for that piece of laziness, for my
boy might have been brought back to his mother but for it. Dear, dear!
Well, there's no mistaking my own A.M., and when I peered close with
my glasses on I could even see where I unpicked the A. and did it over
again. Dear, dear, shall I ever forgive myself for not doing the
surname in full--his poor, poor mother! Well, I mustn't think of
that--it's a merciful Providence that has led me to him now, and he's
as darling and elegant a young man as ever I clapped eyes on, and as
fond of the young ladies as can be even now.
"'I always felt somehow as if they were my sisters,' he said to me.
Well, well, God be praised for his mercies."