THROWN ON THE WORLD.
Poor Dainty was always tired and sad now. She had never been very strong
since her illness in the mountains.
Her face was always thin and pale, her blue eyes hollow, with dark
circles beneath them, while her breath was short and palpitating. She
knew that she was strangely ill, and had a fancy that she was going into
a rapid decline.
Ailsa Scott wanted her to see a doctor, but she always refused to do so.
"I want to die! I would rather not take any medicine from the best
doctor in the world!" she exclaimed, rebelliously.
She had not told her friend the strange story of her secret marriage,
fearing lest the threatened revenge of Mrs. Ellsworth should find her
out even this far away; but Ailsa guessed well at some sad secret, and
pitied the poor girl with all her gentle heart.
By and by Miss White returned in a very good humor indeed, saying that
Miss Scott said everything was all right, and she would call to see her
friend on her way from school the next day.
"I saw Mr. Sparks, too, and really, he is the most charming man I ever
met," she simpered, adding: "I don't see how you could repulse his
addresses, Miss Chase; he is so handsome and agreeable. Then, too, poor
man, his sweet little children stand so much in need of a mother that
he was excusable for haste, though he ought to have picked an older
woman than you."
"I should say that you, Miss White, would be the most suitable woman in
the world for him," Dainty ventured, with a faint smile.
"Thank you for the compliment. I wonder if he thinks so, too? He was
certainly quite attentive, and I didn't let him guess I knew he was
looking for a wife; but I made up my mind to buy my groceries from him
in future," smirked the delighted spinster, thinking what a little fool
that girl was to refuse such a man.
Ailsa came next day, and was indignant when she heard how her
step-father had treated Dainty, while she rejoiced that the girl had
found such a refuge, for she believed that Miss White was in the main a
very good woman.
"But, oh! Dainty, she has set her cap at Sparks, and I believe her
flatteries have made an impression on him that will heal the wounds your
scolding gave. Depend on it, that will be a match, and, as I believe she
would make a real good step-mother to my little half-brothers and
sisters, you and I will rent rooms and live together like sisters after
the wedding!" she cried, cheerfully, trying to bring a smile to the
pale, lily-like face over which the tears streamed as the girl sighed:
"Oh, Ailsa, you are like an angel to me!"
"I am very sorry," continued Ailsa, "that you have promised to work for
your board, for you need a little money as you go along--all girls
do--and when I found you were gone without a cent I was nearly crazy. I
gave old Sparks such a lecture as he will never forget, and I fairly
hugged that primpy old maid when she came to tell me where you were.
Now, dear, take this ten dollars from your sister Ailsa, and use it in
time of need. No, you shall not refuse it, or you may be sorry for it if
Miss White should turn you out in the streets some day as heartlessly as
old Sparks did."
She had not the least idea of such a thing happening again, but she
wanted to frighten Dainty into taking the gift, and she succeeded, after
which she left, promising to see her friend often.
The weeks came and went, and Dainty toiled at her sewing with aching
limbs and a heavy heart filled with dire forebodings that she dare not
utter aloud to any human being, even gentle Ailsa, and at night her
lonely pillow was wet with tears, and her piteous cry was ever:
"Oh, mother, mother, if only you were with me now to pity and help me in
my trouble!"
For awhile Miss White was quite kind, for at the bottom of her heart she
felt secretly grateful to the girl for having in a way brought about her
acquaintance with Sparks--an acquaintance that she prosecuted with much
vigor, running in and out daily for trifles from the store, till her
broad flatteries and fondness for the children awakened a warm sentiment
in his heart, and he began to pay her such pleasing attentions as
calling on Sunday evenings for social chats, Dainty always keeping out
of the way, reluctant to meet him again, and quite unaware that in his
spite he was doing all he could to turn Miss White's heart against her
hapless _protege_.
March came with its bleak winds and occasional hints of spring, but
Dainty's heart sank heavier day by day, her cheeks grew more pale, her
eyes more heavy, as she drooped over her work shivering, with the thick
cape always wrapped about her form, and looking as if death would soon
claim her as its own.
They were dark, sad days for Dainty, for the gay young girls, Miss
White's assistants, began to shun her, and to look askance at the form
always bundled up so closely from the winter cold. Two hands quit work
abruptly and never returned, and the three others held private
conversations with their employer, after which she came straight to
Dainty, saying harshly:
"You wicked girl, you have imposed on me!"
Dainty was putting away the tea-things, and she started so violently
that a china cup fell through her thin fingers and crashed upon the
floor.
Miss White continued, angrily:
"I took you in as an honest girl and treated you kindly. In return you
imposed on me, disgraced my house, and broke up my business!"
"Oh, madame!"
"Two of my best hands have quit me in disgust, and the other three
threaten to go unless I turn you away at once. Do you know the reason,
pray?"
Crimson with shame, Dainty dropped forlornly before her with
down-dropped eyes, speechless with fear, and the woman continued,
sharply:
"Take off that cape you've been shrouded in all the winter, pretending
to suffer from the cold, and let me see if it is really hiding your
disgrace."
"Oh, spare me!"
"Do as I bid you! There! I've dragged it off in spite of you! Oh, for
shame--shame! How could you be so wicked with that innocent face?"
"Oh, I am not as bad as you think! I--I--"
"Hush! You can't excuse your disgrace. Mr. Sparks told me all along you
were a bad girl, and told me when we became engaged I must send you to
the right-about before we were married. But, somehow, I couldn't believe
ill of you, till I see it now with my own eyes."
"Oh! may I stay till to-morrow? You will not drive me out into the
streets to-night?" imploringly.
"I ought to do it to pay you for cheating me so; but I'm a Christian
woman, and, somehow, I pity you, and I can't be hard on you. You may
stay to-night; but you must leave in the morning directly after
breakfast. There's a hospital in this city for poor girls that's gone
astray like you. You can go there, and the good doctor will take you in
and let you stay till your child is born. Then you can put it in the
foundlings' home and some good people may adopt it."
"Merciful God, have pity!" shrilled over the girl's tortured lips, as
she sank on her knees, overcome by the horror of her thoughts.
Her child--Love Ellsworth's lawful heir--to be born in a home for "girls
gone astray," and placed in a foundlings' home, to be "adopted by some
good people." Had she come to this? She, whose future had promised so
radiantly nine brief months ago! A wild prayer to Heaven broke from her
pallid lips:
"Oh, God! take us both--the forsaken mother and child--to heaven!"
"It's too late to take on now. Better behaved yourself right at first,"
the old maid admonished her; adding, soothingly: "Go to bed now, and
I'll send to-morrow for the good doctor to come and take you to the
lying-in hospital."
But in the gray dawn of the cold morning she found the bed empty, and
poor Dainty gone.