WHAT ROVER FOUND
Unmindful of the sleet beating upon his uncovered head Hugh hastened to
the spot, where the noble brute was licking a face, a baby face, which
he had ferreted out from beneath the shawl trapped so carefully around
it to shield it from the cold, for instead of one there were two in that
rift of snow--a mother and her child! That stiffened form lying there so
still, hugging that sleeping child so closely to its bosom, was no
delusion, and his mother's voice calling to know what he was doing
brought Hugh back at Last to a consciousness that he must act, and that
immediately.
"Mother," he screamed, "send a servant here, quick! or let Ad come
herself. There's a woman dead, I fear. I can carry her, but the child,
Ad must come for her."
"The what?" gasped Mrs. Worthington, who, terrified beyond measure at
the mention of a-dead woman, was doubly so at hearing of a child. "A
child," she repeated, "whose child?"
Hugh, made no reply save an order that the lounge should be brought near
the fire and a pillow from his mother's bed. "From mine, then," he
added, as he saw the anxious look in his mother's face, and guessed that
she shrank from having her own snowy pillow come in contact with the
wet, limp figure he was depositing upon the lounge. It was a slight,
girlish form, and the long brown hair, loosened from its confinement,
fell in rich profusion over the pillow which 'Lina brought half
reluctantly, eying askance the insensible object before her, and
daintily holding back her dress lest it should come in contact with the
child her mother had deposited upon the floor, where it lay crying
lustily.
The idea of a strange woman being thrust upon them in this way was
highly displeasing to Miss 'Lina, who haughtily drew back from the
little one when it stretched its arms out toward her, while its pretty
lip quivered and the tears dropped over its rounded cheek.
Meantime Hugh, with all a woman's tenderness, had done for the now
reviving stranger what he could, and as his mother began to collect her
scattered senses and evince some interest in the matter, he withdrew to
call the negroes, judging it prudent to remain away a while, as his
presence might be an intrusion. From the first he had felt sure that the
individual thrown upon his charity was not a low, vulgar person, as his
sister seemed to think. He had not yet seen her face distinctly, for it
lay in the shadow, but the long, flowing hair, the delicate hands, the
pure white neck, of which he had caught a glimpse as his mother
unfastened the stiffened dress, all these had made an impression, and
involuntarily repeating to himself, "Poor girl, poor girl," he strode a
second time across the drifts which lay in his back yard, and was soon
pounding at old Chloe's cabin door, bidding her and Hannah dress at once
and come immediately to the house.
An indignant growl at being thus aroused from her first sleep was
Chloe's only response, but Hugh knew that his orders were being obeyed.
The change of atmosphere and restoratives applied had done their work,
and Mrs. Worthington saw that the long eyelashes began to tremble, while
a faint color stole into the hitherto colorless cheeks, and at last the
large, brown eyes unclosed and looked into hers with an expression so
mournful, so beseeching, that a thrill of yearning tenderness for the
desolate young creature shot through her heart, and bending down she
said, "Are you better now?"
"Yes, thank you. Where is Willie?" was the low response, the tone
thrilling Mrs. Worthington again with emotion.
Even 'Lina started, it was so musical, and coming near she answered: "If
it's the baby you mean, he is here, playing with Rover."
There was a look of gratitude in the brown eyes, which closed again
wearily. With her eyes thus closed, 'Lina had a fair opportunity to scan
the beautiful face, with its delicately-chiseled features, and the
wealth of lustrous brown hair, sweeping back from the open forehead, on
which there was perceptible a faint line, which 'Lina stooped down to
examine.
"Mother, mother," she whispered, drawing back, "look, is not that a mark
just like mine?"
Thus appealed to, Mrs. Worthington, too, bent down, but, upon a closer
scrutiny, the mark seemed only a small, blue vein.
"She's pretty," she said. "I wonder why I feel so drawn toward her?"
'Lina was about to reply, when again the brown eyes looked up, and the
stranger asked hesitatingly:
"Where am I? And is he here! Is this his house?"
"Whose house?" Mrs. Worthington asked.
The girl did not answer at once, and when she did her mind seemed
wandering.
"I waited so long," she said, "but he never came again, only the letter
which broke my heart. Willie was a baby then, and I almost hated him for
a while, but he wasn't to blame. I wasn't to blame. I'm glad God gave me
Willie now, even if he did take his father from me."
Mrs. Worthington and her daughter exchanged glances, and the latter
abruptly asked:
"Where is Willie's father?"
"I don't know," came in a wailing sob from the depths of the pillow.
"Where did you come from?" was the next question. The young girl looked
up in some alarm, and answered meekly:
"From New York. I thought I'd never get here, but everybody was so kind
to me and Willie, and the driver said if 'twan't so late, and he so many
passengers, he'd drive across the fields. He pointed out the way and I
came on alone."
The color had faded from Mrs. Worthington's face, and very timidly she
asked again:
"Whom are you looking for? Whom did you hope to find?"
"Mr. Worthington. Does he live here?" was the frank reply; whereupon
'Lina drew herself up haughtily, exclaiming:
"I knew it. I've thought so ever since Hugh came home from New York."
'Lina was about to commence a tirade of abuse, when the mother
interposed, and with an air of greater authority than she generally
assumed toward her imperious daughter, bade her keep silence while she
questioned the stranger, gazing wonderingly from one to the other, as if
uncertain what they meant.
Mrs. Worthington had no such feelings for the girl as 'Lina entertained.
"It will be easier to talk with you," she said, leaning forward, "if I
know what to call you."
"Adah," was the response, and the brown eyes, swimming with tears,
sought the face of the questioner with a wistful eagerness, as if it
read there the unmistakable signs of a friend.
"Adah, you say. Well, then, Adah, why have you come to my son on such a
night as this, and what is he to you?"
"Are you his mother?" and Adah started up. "I did not know he had one.
Oh, I'm so glad. And you'll be kind to me, who never had a mother?"
A person who never had a mother was an anomaly to Mrs. Worthington,
whose powers of comprehension were not the clearest imaginable.
"Never had a mother!" she repeated. "How can that be?"
A smile flitted for a moment across Adah's face, and then she answered:
"I never knew a mother's care, I mean."
"But your father? What do you know of him?" said Mrs. Worthington, and
instantly a shadow stole into the sweet young face, as Adah replied:
"Only this, I was left at a boarding school."
"And Hugh? Where did you meet him? And what is he to you?"
"The only friend I've got. May I see him, please?"
"First tell what he is to you and to this child," 'Lina rejoined. Adah
answered calmly:
"Your brother might not like to be implicated. I must see him first--see
him alone."
"One thing more," and 'Lina held back her mother, who was starting in
quest of Hugh, "are you a wife?"
"Don't, 'Lina," Mrs. Worthington whispered, as she saw the look of agony
pass over Adah's face. "Don't worry her so; deal kindly by the fallen."
"I am not fallen!" came passionately from the quivering lips. "I am as
true a woman as either of you--look!" and she pointed to the golden band
encircling the third finger.
'Lina was satisfied, and needed no further explanations. To her, it was
plain as daylight. In an unguarded moment, Hugh had set his uncle's will
at naught, and married some poor girl, whose pretty face had pleased his
fancy. How glad 'Lina was to have this hold upon her brother, and how
eagerly she went in quest of him, keeping back old Chloe and Hannah
until she had witnessed his humiliation.
Somewhat impatient of the long delay, Hugh sat in the dingy kitchen,
when 'Lina appeared, and with an air of injured dignity, bade him follow
her.
"What's up now that Ad looks so solemn like?" was Hugh's mental comment
as he took his way to the room where, in a half-reclining position sat
Adah, her large, bright eyes fixed eagerly upon the door through which
he entered, and a bright flush upon her cheek called up by the
suspicions to which she had been subjected.
Perhaps they might be true. Nobody knew but Hugh, and she waited for him
so anxiously, starting when she heard a manly step and knew that he was
coming. For an instant she scanned his face curiously to assure herself
that it was he, then with an imploring cry as if for him to save her
from some dreaded evil, she stretched her little hands toward him and
sobbed: "Mr. Worthington, was it true? Was it as his letter said?" and
shedding back from her white face the wealth of flowing hair, Adah
waited for the answer, which did not come at once. In utter amazement
Hugh gazed upon the stranger, and then exclaimed:
"Adah, Adah Hastings, why are you here?"
In the tone of his voice surprise and pity were mingled with
disapprobation, the latter of which Adah detected at once, and as if it
had crushed out the last lingering hope, she covered her face with her
hands and sobbed piteously.
"Don't you turn against me, or I'll surely die, and I've come so far to
find you."
By this time Hugh was himself again. His rapid, quick-seeing mind had
come to a decision, and turning to his mother and sister, he said:
"Leave us alone for a time."
Rather reluctantly Mrs. Worthington and her daughter left the room.
Deliberately turning the key in the lock, Hugh advanced to her side,
groaning as his eye fell upon the child, which had fallen asleep again.
"I hoped this might have been spared her," he thought, as, kneeling by
the couch, he said, kindly: "Adah, I am more pained to see you here than
I can express. Why did you come, and where is--"
The name was lost to 'Lina, and muttering to herself: "It does not sound
much like a man and wife," she rather unwillingly quitted her position,
and Hugh was really alone with Adah.
Never was Hugh in so awkward a position before, or so uncertain how to
act. The sight of that sobbing, trembling wretched creature, whose heart
he had helped to crush, had perfectly unmanned him, making him almost as
much a woman as herself.
"Oh, what made you? Why didn't you save me?" she said, looking up to him
with an expression of reproach.
He had no excuse. He knew how innocent she was, and he held her in his
arms as he would once have held the Golden Haired, had she come to him
with a tale of woe.
"Let me see that letter again," he said.
She gave it to him; and he read once more the cruel lines, in which
there was still much of love for the poor thing, to whom they were
addressed.
"You will surely find friends who will care for you, until the time when
I may come to really make you mine."
Hugh repeated these words twice, aloud, his heart throbbing with the
noble resolve, that the confidence she had placed in him by coming
there, should not be abused, for he would be true to the trust, and care
for the poor, little, half-crazed Adah, moaning so piteously beside him,
and as he read the last line, saying eagerly:
"He speaks of coming back. Do you think he ever will? or could I find
him if I should try? I thought of starting once, but it was so far; and
there was Willie. Oh, if he could see Willie! Mr. Worthington, do you
believe he loves me one bit?"
Hugh said at last, that the letter contained many assurances of
affection.
"It seems family pride has something to do with it. I wonder where his
people live, or who they are? Did he never tell you?"
"No," and Adah shook her head mournfully.
"Would you go to them?" Hugh asked quickly; and Adah answered:
"Sometimes I've thought I would. I'd brave his proud mother--I'd lay
Willie in her lap. I'd tell her whose he was, and then I'd go away and
die." Then, after a pause, she continued: "Once, Mr. Worthington, I went
down to the river, and said I'd end my wretched life, but God held me
back. He cooled my scorching head--He eased the pain, and on the very
spot where I meant to jump, I kneeled down and said: 'Our Father.' No
other words would come, only these: 'Lead us not into temptation.'
Wasn't it kind in God to save me?"
There was a radiant expression in the sweet face as Adah said this, but
it quickly passed away and was succeeded by one of deep concern when
Hugh abruptly said:
"Do you believe in God?"
"Oh, Mr. Worthington. Don't you? You do, you must, you will," and Adah
shrank away from him as from a monster.
The action reminded him of the Golden Haired, when on the deck of the
_St. Helena_ he had asked her a similar question, and anxious further to
probe the opinion of the girl beside him, he continued:
"If, as you think, there is a God who knew and saw when you were about
to drown yourself, why didn't He prevent the cruel wrong to you? Why did
He suffer it?"
"What He does we know not now, but we shall know hereafter," Adah said,
reverently, adding: "If George had feared God, he would not have left me
so; but he didn't, and perhaps he says there is no God--but you don't,
Mr. Worthington. Your face don't look like it. Tell me you believe," and
in her eagerness Adah grasped his arm beseechingly.
"Yes, Adah, I believe," Hugh answered, half jestingly, "but it's such as
you that make me believe, and as persons of your creed think everything
is ordered for good, so possibly you were permitted to suffer that you
might come here and benefit me. I think I must keep you, Adah, at least,
until he is found."
"No, no," and the tears flowed at once, "I cannot be a burden to you. I
have no claim."
After a moment she grew calm again, and continued:
"You whispered, you know, that if I was ever in trouble, come to you,
and that's why I remembered you so well, maybe. I wrote down your name,
and where you lived, though why I did not know, and I forgot where I put
it, but as if God really were helping me I found it in my old portfolio,
and something bade me come, for you would know if it was true, and your
words had a meaning of which I did not dream when I was so happy. George
left me money, and sent more, but it's most gone now. I can take care of
myself."
"What can you do?" Hugh asked, and Adah replied:
"I don't know, but God will find me something. I never worked much, but
I can learn, and I can already sew neatly, too; besides that, a few days
before I decided to come here, I advertised in the _Herald_ for some
place as governess or ladies' waiting maid. Perhaps I'll hear from
that."
"It's hardly possible. Such advertisements are thick as blackberries,"
Hugh said, and then in a few brief words, he marked out Adah's future
course.
George Hastings might or might not return to claim her, and whether he
did or didn't, she must live meantime, and where so well as at Spring
Bank, or who, next to Mr. Hastings, was more strongly bound to care for
her than himself?"
"To be sure, he did not like women much," he said; "their artificial
fooleries disgusted him. There wasn't one woman in ten thousand that was
what she seemed to be. But even men are not all alike," he continued,
with something like a sneer, for when Hugh got upon his favorite hobby,
"women and their weaknesses," he generally grew bitter and sarcastic.
"Now, there's the one of whom you are continually thinking. I dare say
you have contrasted him with me and thought how much more elegant he was
in his appearance. Isn't it so?" and Hugh glanced at Adah, who, in a
grieved tone, replied:
"No, Mr. Worthington, I have not compared you with him--I have only
thought how good you were."
Hugh knew Adah was sincere, and said:
"I told you I did not like women much, and I don't but I'm going to take
care of you until that scoundrel turns up; then, if you say so, I'll
surrender you to his care, or better yet, I'll shoot him and keep you to
myself. Not as a sweetheart, or anything of that kind," he hastened to
add, as he saw the flush on Adah's cheek. "Hugh Worthington has nothing
to do with that species of the animal kingdom, but as my Sister Adah!"
and as Hugh repeated that name, there arose in his great heart an
indefinable wish that the gentle girl beside him had been his sister
instead of the high-tempered Adaline, who never tried to conciliate or
understand him, and whom, try as he might, Hugh could not love as
brothers should love sisters.
He knew how impatiently she was waiting now to know the result of that
interview, and just how much opposition he should meet when he announced
his intention of keeping Adah. Hugh was master of Spring Bank, but
though its rightful owner, Hugh was far from being rich, and many were
the shifts and self-denials he was obliged to make to meet the increased
expense entailed upon him by his mother and sister. John Stanley had
been accounted very wealthy, and Hugh, who had often seen him counting
out his gold, was not a little surprised when, after his death, no ready
money could be found, or any account of the same--nothing but the Spring
Bank property, consisting of sundry acres of nearly worn-out land, the
old, dilapidated house, and a dozen or more negroes. This to a certain
extent was the secret of his patched boots, his threadbare coat and
coarse pants, with which 'Lina so often taunted him, saying he wore
them just to be stingy and mortify her, she knew he did, when in fact
necessity rather than choice was the cause of his shabby appearance. He
had never told her so, however, never said that the unfashionable coat
so offensive to her fastidious vision was worn that she might be the
better clothed and fed. But Hugh was capable of great self-sacrifices.
He could manage somehow, and Adah should stay. He would say that she was
a friend whom he had known in New York, that her husband had deserted
her, and in her distress she had come to him for aid.
All this he explained to Adah, who assented tacitly, thinking within
herself that she should not long remain at Spring Bank, a dependent upon
one on whom she had no claim. She was too weak now, however, to oppose
him, and merely nodding to his suggestions laid her head upon the arm of
the lounge with a low cry that she was sick and warm. Stepping to the
door Hugh turned the key, and summoning the group waiting anxiously in
the adjoining room, bade them come at once, as Mrs. Hastings appeared to
be fainting. Great emphasis he laid upon the Mrs. and catching it up at
once 'Lina repeated, "Mrs. Hastings! So am I just as much."
"Ad," and the eyes which shone so softly on poor Adah flashed with
gleams of fire as Hugh said to his sister, "not another word against
that girl if you wish to remain here longer. She has been unfortunate."
"I guessed as much," sneeringly interrupted 'Lina.
"Silence!" and Hugh's foot came down as it sometimes did when chiding a
refractory negro. "She is as true, yes, truer, than you. He who should
have protected her has basely deserted her. There is a reason which I do
not care to explain, why I should care for her and I shall do it. See
that a fire is kindled in the west chamber, and go up yourself when it
is made and see that all is comfortable. Do you understand?" and he
gazed sternly at 'Lina, who was too much astonished to answer, even if
she had been so disposed.
Quick as thought, 'Lina darted up a back stairway, and when, half an
hour later, Hugh, hearing mysterious sounds above, and suspecting
something wrong, went up to reconnoiter, he found Hannah industriously
pulling the tacks from the carpet, preparatory to taking it up. In
thunder tones, he demanded what she was doing, and with a start, which
made her drop tacks, hammer, saucer and all, Hannah replied:
"Lor', Mas'r Hugh, how you skeered me! Miss 'Lina done order me to take
up de carpet, 'case it's ole miss's, and she won't have no low-lived
truck tramplin' over it. That's what Miss 'Lina say," and Hannah tossed
her head quite conceitedly.
"Miss 'Lina be hanged," was Hugh's savage response; "and you, woman, do
you hear?--drive those nails back faster than you took them out."
"Yes, mas'r," and Hannah hastened down. Whispering to her mistress,
Hannah told what Hugh had said, and instantly there came over Mrs.
Worthington's face a look of concern, as if she, too, objected to having
the stranger occupy a room wherein an ex-governor had slept, but Hugh's
wish was law to her, and she answered that all was ready. A moment
after, Hugh appeared, and taking Adah in his arms, carried her to the
upper chamber, where the fire was burning brightly, casting cheerful
shadows upon the wall, and making Adah smile gratefully, as she looked
up in his face, and murmured:
"God bless you, Mr. Worthington! Adah will pray for you to-night, when
she is alone. It's all that she can do."
They laid her upon the bed, Hugh himself arranging her pillows, which no
one else appeared inclined to touch.
Family opinion was against her, innocent and beautiful as she looked
lying there--so helpless, so still, with her long-fringed lashes shading
her colorless cheek, and her little hands folded upon her bosom, as if
already she were breathing the promised prayer for Hugh. Only in Mrs.
Worthington's heart was there a chord of sympathy. She couldn't help
feeling for the desolate stranger; and when, at her own request, Hannah
placed Willie in her lap, ere laying him by his mother, she gave him an
involuntary hug, and touched her lips to his fat, round cheek.
"He looks as you did, Hugh, when you were a baby like him," she said,
while Chloe rejoined:
"De very spawn of Mas'r Hugh, now. I 'tected it de fust minit. Can't
cheat dis chile," and, with a chuckle, which she meant to be very
expressive, the fat old woman waddled from the room.
Hugh and his mother were alone, and turning to her son, Mrs. Worthington
said, gently:
"This is sad business, Hugh; worse than you imagine. Do you know how
folks will talk?"
"Let them talk," Hugh growled. "It cannot be much worse than it is now.
Nobody cares for Hugh Worthington; and why should they, when his own
mother and sister are against him, in actions if not in words?--one
sighing when his name is mentioned, as if he really were the most
provoking son that ever was born, and the other openly berating him as a
monster, a clown, a savage, a scarecrow, and all that. I tell you,
mother, there is but little to encourage me in the kind of life I'm
leading. Neither you nor Ad have tried to make anything of me."
Choking with tears, Mrs. Worthington said:
"You wrong me, Hugh; I do try to make something of you. You are a dear
child to me, dearer than the other, but I'm a weak woman, and 'Lina
sways me at will."
A kind word unmanned Hugh at once, and kneeling by his mother, he put
his arms around her, and asked again her care for Adah.
"Hugh," and Mrs. Worthington looked him steadily in the face, "is Adah
your wife, or Willie your child?"
"Great guns, mother!" and Hugh started to his feet as quick as if a bomb
had exploded at his side. "No! Are you sorry, mother, to find me better
than you imagined it possible for a bad boy like me to be?"
"No, Hugh, not sorry. I was only thinking that I've sometimes fancied
that, as a married man, you might be happier, even if you did lose
Spring Bank; and when this woman came so strangely, and you seemed so
interested, I didn't know, I rather thought--"
"I know," and Hugh interrupted her. "You thought, maybe, I raised Ned
when I was in New York; and, as a proof of said resurrection, Mrs. Ned
and Ned, Junior, had come with their baggage."
If the hair was golden instead of brown, and the eyes a different shade,
he shouldn't "make so tremendous a fuss," he thought; and, with a sigh
to the memory of the lost Golden Hair, he turned abruptly to his mother,
and as if she had all the while been cognizant of his thoughts, said:
"But that's nothing to do with the case in question. Will you be kind to
Adah Hastings, for my sake? And when Ad rides her highest horse, as she
is sure to do, will you smooth her down? Tell her Adah has as good a
right here as she, if I choose to keep her."
"I never meddle with your affairs," and there was a tone of whining
complaint in Mrs. Worthington's voice; "I never pry and you never tell,
so I don't know how much you are worth, but I can judge somewhat, and I
don't think you are able."
Mrs. Worthington was much more easily won over to Hugh's opinion than
'Lina. They'd be a county talk, she said; nobody would come near them;
hadn't Hugh enough on his hands already without taking more?
"If my considerate sister really thinks so, hadn't she better try and
help herself a little?" retorted Hugh in a blaze of anger.
'Lina began to cry, and Hugh, repenting of his harsh speech as soon as
it was uttered, but far too proud to take it back, strode up and down
the room, chafing like a young lion.
"Come children, it's after midnight, let us adjourn until to-morrow,"
Mrs. Worthington said, by way of ending the painful interview, at the
same time handing a candle to Hugh, who took it silently and withdrew,
banging the door behind him with a force which made 'Lina start and
burst into a fresh flood of tears.
"I'm a brute, a savage, and want to kick myself," was Hugh's not very
self-complimentary soliloquy, as he went up the stairs. "What did I want
to twit Ad for? Confound my badness!" and having by this time reached
his own door, Hugh sat down to think.