MOKE THAN A DREAM
Very little sleep came to Mrs. Hampton that night. The disturbing
events of the day still agitated her mind, giving her much anxiety.
Grimsby's visit was the principal cause, for she felt that she could
not trust the man, notwithstanding the money he had received and his
promise of secrecy. Was her child alive? she asked herself over and
over again. Her heart called out for even the slightest knowledge of
the one she had bartered for money. Money! The thought stung and
almost maddened her. She had given her own flesh and blood for money,
and her punishment was rapidly increasing upon her. Her sin had
followed her through the years, and had now suddenly enmeshed her. The
steady tick of the clock seemed like an accusing voice to her hot
brain, and the gentle motion of the blind at the open window annoyed
her. She fancied it knew of her guilt and was mocking her. She was
learning, as others have learned, that to the conscience-stricken heart
and mind all things, even the inanimate, are banded together in a
conspiracy of mockery and revenge.
She wondered, too, about John's strange behaviour. What was his
special call to the quarry, and what was the secret he was keeping from
her? He had never acted in such a manner before, and he only stayed
from home at night on an occasional visit to the city. Had he fallen
in with evil companions? She banished this idea, however, when she
recalled how he had told her that he had a surprise in store for her,
and that it was a pleasant one. Try as she might, she could not
imagine what that might be, for the thought of a woman never once
entered her mind. Not for an instant could she imagine John being in
love, so engrossed was he with the affairs of the farm and the mine.
Although the night was long, she dreaded the coming of a new day. In
some way she had to get the money to pay that bill, and where was it to
come from? All the money, except a few dollars in the bank, had been
withdrawn to pay for the car. It had been an expensive luxury, she was
well aware, but John had set his mind upon it, and she had not the
heart to oppose his wish. Hitherto the car had cost but little apart
from the running expenses. In case anything did happen they had the
one hundred dollars for immediate use. Now that was gone, and Mrs.
Hampton had no idea how it was to be replaced. She must raise the
amount some way, or else invent some plausible excuse as to what she
had done with it. And the sum of sixty dollars was needed the next
day, in the morning, too, so it could go to the city by the afternoon
mail. After she had racked her brain in vain for some method of
raising the money, she made up her mind that she must borrow it. The
storekeeper would let her have it; she was certain. But how could she
pay it back?
She thought of all these things as the night dragged by. Her wide
sleepless eyes were still staring into space as the faint dawn of a new
day came stealing gently into the room, and the birds outside the
window began their early morning chorus. She arose, dressed herself,
and attended to her household duties. There was also the work at the
barn to be done, the cows to be milked, turned out to pasture, and the
horses to be fed. Very rarely was she called upon to do such work, as
John had always attended to this himself, and she wondered why he had
not mentioned it that afternoon. He seemed, to have forgotten all
about it. The business which took him to the quarry must be of special
importance, she mused. If it was anyone else than John she would feel
sure that he was in love.
About the middle of the forenoon she went to the store, and surprised
the storekeeper by asking him to lend her sixty-five dollars for one
month. He was quite willing to accede to her request, for she was a
good customer, and always paid cash for whatever she bought. He looked
at her curiously, nevertheless, after he had counted out the bills, and
then made out a money order payable at St. John. He had known Mrs.
Hampton for many years, and had never known her to borrow money before.
Everyone supposed that she had a large bank account.
"You must have some security for this," she told him. "I shall give
you a note."
"Not at all, Mrs. Hampton," the storekeeper protested. "Your word is
all the note I need. I wish the same could be said of others. By the
way, John seems very busy these days. He went by here like a whirlwind
last night. Nothing wrong, I hope."
"No, nothing so far as I know. John is a fast driver, anyway."
Mrs. Hampton waited until the mail arrived, and when she had received
her daily paper she walked slowly down the road. It was a beautiful
day, though rather hot, so after she had gone some distance, she was
glad to sit down to rest under the shade of a big maple tree. Hardly a
ripple ruffled the surface of the river which stretched out before her.
Its calmness appealed to her. Then she suddenly remembered the tragedy
which had taken place at Benton's wharf. Somewhere, perhaps, in its
quiet depths a girl was lying, who, but a few days before was full of
abounding health and strength. The river, however, gave no sign of its
secret, but smiled beneath the morning sun. "How like many a life that
river is," she thought. "Outwardly everything seems full of peace and
happiness, while all the time tragedy lurks beneath. That is the way
with mine, at any rate. My friends, neighbours, and even John are
unaware of the sin hidden within my soul. They imagine that my life is
one of contentment, little realising how miserable I really am."
Unfolding the newspaper, she cast her eyes at the various headlines
until they rested upon one which arrested her attention. It was set
forth in large type, and described in vivid language the supposed
drowning of Henry Randall's only daughter the night before. The
article was well written, and told about Miss Randall's beauty, charm
of manner, and her many friends, who were greatly shocked over the
tragedy. Her parents were grief-stricken, and Mrs. Randall was
inconsolable. There was no doubt at all but that the girl had
committed suicide, distracted over a love affair. The river bad been
thoroughly searched, but so far the body of the missing girl had not
been found.
Mrs. Hampton could not get this story out of her mind, and she thought
much about it as she walked home. As she went about her work that
afternoon the girl was ever before her. Though she had never seen her,
yet she pictured her with white face, and eyes filled with despair,
rowing out from the wharf, and ending her young life. So she, too, had
her troubles, poor girl!
As the afternoon was drawing to a close, and Mrs. Hampton was resting
for a few minutes on the verandah, Flo Tobin came and sat down by her
side. She was a frequent visitor, and Mrs. Hampton was always glad to
see her. She was of a bright, sunny disposition, altogether different
from her mother, and with none of Eben's peculiarities.
"Wasn't it terrible about that girl drowning herself last night?" she
at once began. "I can't get her out of my mind."
"It is very sad," Mrs. Hampton replied. "She had everything that money
can buy, and yet she was not happy."
"Money isn't everything," and Flo looked thoughtfully out upon the
river as she spoke. "Now, look at me. I have a home, food, clothes,
and such things, but they don't always make a girl happy. She needs to
be understood, and that's where parents so often fail. I don't blame
that girl for doing what she did. I have often felt like doing the
same thing myself."'
"Flo! I am astonished to hear you say such a thing."
"I know you are, but it is true, for all that. What have I to live
for, anyway? Mother keeps me tied to the house most of the time, and
doesn't want me to associate with other girls, or go to parties for
fear I might go astray. She says that home is the place for girls."
"Your mother means well, dear. She is a good woman, and believes she
is doing the best she can for you."
"I suppose she does," and the girl sighed. "But sometimes she makes me
hate goodness and all good people, so I feel like being bad just for a
change. Mother's method of goodness rubs me the wrong way. I am
afraid you wouldn't call her very good if you knew how mad she is
to-day about daddy and Eben sailing by without stopping. I pity them,
for they will have a hard time when they come home. But there's mother
calling me now. She can't bear to have me out of her sight even for a
few minutes."
As Mrs. Hampton watched the girl as she hurried down to the road, she
thought how nice it would be to have such a daughter as Flo. What a
companion she would be, and how proud she would be of her. And she
might have had one, more beautiful, perhaps, than Flo but for her own
mad deed years ago. Yet her daughter was somewhere in the world,
unknown to her even by name. The only recollection she had of her was
when the nurse had brought her to the bedside in the hospital for her
to see. But she was so weak and tired then, that she had merely
glanced at the little one. Her husband's critical financial affairs
were a great worry to her at that time, so the thought of paying the
doctor, the hospital bill, and providing for the child was most
distressing. The simple matter of exchanging the babies had been done
so quietly that she hardly realised that it had taken place. Babies,
after all, were very much alike, and when next time the nurse brought a
little bundled form to her side she could not tell it from her own. It
was only afterwards, when her strength returned, that her heart cried
out for her own flesh and blood, the one for whom she had suffered so
much. Even her husband never knew what she endured. The money had
meant a great deal to him, and he was pleased to know that the baby was
a boy who would grow up as his own son.
It was late that night when Mrs. Hampton went to bed. She had stayed
up longer than usual, waiting for John. But when the clock struck
eleven and he had not arrived, she wearily made her way upstairs to her
room. She left the front door unlocked, and a lunch on the dining-room
table, for John always liked something to eat before retiring.
Mrs. Hampton found it hard to get to sleep, and she lay awake for some
time. When slumber did at last seal her eyes she was beset by a
fantastic dream. She was surrounded by all kinds of people, greatly
excited. They were constantly moving, some coming and others going.
Faces and forms appeared and vanished in a bewildering manner. At last
one stood out clear from all the rest. It was the face of a beautiful
girl, who looked upon her with longing eyes and called her "mother."
With a cry, Mrs. Hampton reached out her arms to enfold her, but the
girl disappeared, and in her stead stood John, with a smile upon his
face.
"Been having a dream, mother?" he asked. "It must have been an
exciting one."
Somewhat dazed, Mrs. Hampton looked at the young man before her, and
her senses returned. She smiled faintly, and asked him the time.
"It is past midnight," was the reply. "I am sorry to disturb you, but
you are needed downstairs. I have someone with me who has met with a
slight accident."
"A man or a woman?"
"A woman. Just slip on your dressing-gown."
"All right, John, I shall be down in a few minutes." Mrs. Hampton was
sitting up in bed now, fully awake. Someone needed her, so she must
not delay.
It did not take her long to dress, and as she left her room and
descended the stairs, she noticed a light shining from the parlour.
She thought it strange that John should take the woman in there.
Stepping softly, she reached the door, and was about to enter, when she
suddenly stopped, and stared with amazement upon the scene which met
her eyes. Lying upon the sofa was a young woman, a mere girl so she
seemed, with a white bandage bound about her forehead. John was
kneeling by her side, with his right hand in hers, and his eyes fixed
lovingly upon her face. All this Mrs. Hampton noted at the first
glance, and the reason for John's visit to the quarry was at once
apparent,
And as she looked the girl slightly turned her head, and as Mrs.
Hampton's eyes rested upon her face, she gave a great start and
clutched at the side of the door for support. It was the face of the
girl she had seen in her dream! It was her own daughter who had
appeared to her for one fleeting instant. Mrs. Hampton trembled
violently as she stood there. Was she still asleep? she wondered, and
would she awake to find it all a dream? But when she saw the look of
love in the girl's eyes, and the smile which illumined her face, she
knew that it was no fading dream. And just then John saw her.
"Mother!" he cried, leaping to his feet. "I am glad you have come.
Here she is, and she wants to meet you."
He had now taken Mrs. Hampton by the arm, and was leading her across
the room to where the girl was lying.
"Mother, this is Jess--Jess Randall, and she has met with an accident.
I have brought her here for you to nurse."
"Jess Randall!" Mrs. Hampton repeated, as she took the girl's hand in
hers. It was the name of the girl who had been drowned at Benton's
wharf. Could it be possible that she was the same! And was this
stranger her own daughter?
John noted her bewildered look, and laughed outright.
"No wonder you are astonished, mother," he told her, "This is really
Miss Randall, the girl who was drowned. It's a great secret, and we
shall tell you all about it later. Don't ask too many questions now,
for we are too happy to answer them, are we not, Jess?"
The latter smiled and pressed Mrs. Hampton's hand more firmly. Then
her eyes became moist, and a tear stole down her cheek. At once Mrs.
Hampton aroused to action, and dropping upon her knees by the sofa she
put her arms lovingly about the girl and kissed her upon the lips. Her
heart was too full for utterance. This was her own child, she had no
doubt about that now. Her dream was fulfilled in a wonderful manner.
She looked into the clear eyes, drank in the beauty of her face, and
stroked her soft hair. So this was her own child, the one she had
longed to behold for so many years. She was with her at last. But the
girl must never know. She must never call her "mother." The thought
was terrible. Her own daughter, and yet not her own. She had sold her
for money, and how she would spurn her should she ever hear of it. It
was almost more than she could endure. In her confusion she tried to
say something, to utter words of welcome. But all in vain. A feeling
of helplessness and despair swept upon her, so throwing her arms
impulsively about the girl's neck, and burying her face upon her
breast, she sobbed as if her heart would break. The maddening tension
of long years had at last given way, and tears, unknown before, brought
a blessed relief.