ALICE AND ADAH.
At Alice’s request, Adah and Sam staid altogether at Spring Bank, but
Alice was the ruling power—Alice, the one whom Chloe and Claib
consulted; Alice to whom Aunt Eunice looked for counsel, Alice, who
remembered all the doctor’s directions, taking the entire charge of
Hugh’s medicines herself—and Alice, who wrote to Mrs. Worthington,
apprising her of Hugh’s illness. They hoped he was not dangerous, she
said, but he was very sick, and Mrs. Worthington would do well to come
at once. She did not mention ’Lina, but the idea never crossed her mind
that a sister _could_ stay away from choice when a brother was so ill;
and it was with unfeigned surprise that she one morning saw Mrs.
Worthington and Lulu alighting at the gate, but no ’Lina with them.
“She was so happy at Saratoga,” Mrs. Worthington said, when a little
over the first flurry of her arrival. “So happy, too, with Mrs. Richards
that she could not tear herself away, unless her mother should find Hugh
positively dangerous, in which case she should, of course, come at
once.”
This was the mother’s charitable explanation, made with a bitter sigh as
she recalled ’Lina’s heartless anger when the letter was received, as if
Hugh were to blame, as indeed, ’Lina seemed to think he was.
“What business had he to come home so quick? If he’d staid in New
Orleans, he might not have had the fever. Any way, she wasn’t going
home. Alice had said he was not dangerous yet, so if her mother went,
that was enough;” and utterly forgetful of the many weary hours and days
when Hugh had watched by her, the heartless girl had stifled every
feeling of self reproach, and hurried her mother off, entrusting to her
care a note for Alice, who, she felt, would wonder at her singular
conduct.
Giving the note to Alice, Mrs. Worthington hastened to her child, with
whom Adah and Sam were sitting. He had just awakened from a quiet sleep,
and knew his mother at once. Winding his arms around her, he kissed her
forehead and lips, and then his eyes wandered past her towards the door
through which she had entered, as if in quest of some one else. His
mother did not observe the glance, or know for whom he was looking so
wistfully until the white lips whispered, “’Lina, mother, where is she?”
It was strange for him to call her ’Lina. Indeed, the mother could
remember no other time when he had done so, but he called her ’Lina now,
speaking it tenderly, as if her presence would be very welcome to him.
There was a hesitancy on the part of the mother, and then she said,
“’Lina staid in Saratoga. She is very happy there. She will come if you
grow worse. She sent her love.”
Poor Mrs. Worthington! She mentally asked forgiveness for this
fabrication. ’Lina had sent no love, and the mother only said so because
she must say something. Wistfully, eagerly, Hugh’s eyes sought hers for
a moment, and then filled with tears which dropped upon the pillow.
“Did you want ’Lina to come?” Mrs. Worthington asked.
“Yes,” and Hugh’s lip quivered like a grieved child. “I’m going to die,
and I wanted to tell her how sorry I am for the harsh things I’ve said
to her. I’ve been crazy some, I guess, for nothing was clear in my
mind—nothing but the words ‘Forgive as ye would be forgiven.’ They were
the last I ever read in that little Bible you never saw. It’s in my
trunk, and when I’m gone you’ll give it to Miss Johnson. I think she’s
here; and you’ll tell ’Lina I was sorry, and if—if—if she’s ever sorry,
tell her I forgive her, and wanted her to come so much. I thought,
maybe, she’d kiss me; she never has since she was a little child. If she
comes before you put me out of sight, ask her to kiss me in the coffin,
because I was her brother. I shall be sure to know it. Will you,
mother?”
Mrs. Worthington could only sob as she pressed the hands she held
between her own and tried to quiet him.
Meantime Alice, in her own room, was reading ’Lina’s note, containing a
most glowing description of the delightful time she was having at
Saratoga, and how hard it would be to leave.
“I know _dear Hugh_ is in good hands,” she wrote, “and it is so pleasant
here that I really do want to stay a little longer. What a delightful
lady that Mrs. Richards is—not one bit stiff as I can see. I don’t know
what people mean, to call her proud. She has promised, if mamma will
leave me here, to be my chaperon, and it’s possible we may visit New
York together, so as to be there when the Prince arrives. Won’t that be
grand? She talks so much of you that sometimes I’m really jealous.
Perhaps I may go to Terrace Hill before I return, but I rather hope not,
it makes me fidgetty to think of meeting the Misses Richards, though, of
course, I know I shall like them, particularly Anna.”
Not a word was there in this letter of the doctor, but Alice understood
it all the same. _He_ was the attraction which kept the selfish girl
from her brother’s side. “May she be happy with him,” was Alice’s mental
comment, shuddering as she recalled the time when she was pleased with
the handsome doctor, and silently thanking God who had saved her from
much sorrow.
Just then Adah came in, and sitting down by the window seemed to be
looking at something far away, something, which brought to her face the
sad hopeless expression, which Alice had often observed before. Drawing
near to her Alice said softly, “Of what are you thinking, Adah?”
There were no reserves now between the two girls, and laying her head in
Alice’s lap, Adah sobbed, “I’m thinking of Willie’s father. Will he
never come back? Can it be he meant to deceive me, Miss Johnson?” and
Adah lifted up her head, disclosing a face which Alice scarcely
recognized, for the strange expression there. “Miss Johnson, if I knew
that George deliberately planned my ruin under the guise of a mock
marriage, and then when it suited him deserted me as a toy of which he
was tired, _I should hate him!_”
She hissed the words between her shut teeth, and Alice involuntarily
shuddered at the hard, relentless look, which only a deceived, deserted
woman can wear. She did not dream that Adah, who had seemed so gentle,
so good, could put on such a look, and she gazed at her in astonishment,
as in clear, determined tones she repeated the words, “Yes, _I should
hate him!_
“I know it’s wrong,” she continued, “and I’ve asked God many a time to
take the feeling away, but it’s in me yet, and sometimes, when I get to
thinking of the time before he came, when I was a happy, innocent school
girl, without a care for anything, my heart turns into stone, and the
prayer I would say will not come. Miss Johnson, you don’t know what it
is to love with your whole soul one who, to all appearance, was worthy
of your love, and who, the world would say, was above you in position—to
trust him implicitly, to worship the very earth he trod, to feel ’twas
Heaven where he was, to have no shadow of suspicion, to believe yourself
his lawful wife, and then some dreadful morning wake up and find him
gone, you know not where—to wait and watch through weary weeks and
months of agonizing pain, and then to hear at last, in his own
handwriting, that you were not a wife that the whole was a mockery, a
marriage of convenience, which circumstances rendered it necessary for
him to break, that his proud family would not receive you, that though
he loved you still, his bride must be rich to please his aristocratic
mother, and then to end with the hope thrown out that sometime he might
come back and make you truly his. But for that I should have died, and,
as it was, I felt my heart-strings snapping, one by one, felt the blood
freezing in my veins, felt that I was going mad. I frighten you, Miss
Johnson,” she said, as she saw how Alice shrunk away from the dark eyes
in which there was a fierce, resentful gleam, unlike sweet Adah
Hastings. “I used to frighten myself when I saw in my eyes the demon
which whispered suicide.”
“Oh, Adah, Mrs. Hastings,” and Alice involuntarily wound her arm around
the young girl-woman as if to shield her from sin. “You could not have
dreamed of that!”
“I did,” and Adah spoke sadly now. “I forgot God awhile, and He left me
to myself, but followed me still, going with me all through those
crowded streets, close at my side, though I did not know it, and holding
me back at the last moment, when the tempter was about to triumph, and
the river rolling at my feet looked so invitingly to poor, half-crazed
me, He put other thoughts in my head, and where I went to throw my life
away, I knelt down and prayed. It was kind in God to save me, and I’ve
tried to love Him better since, to thank Him for His great goodness in
leading me to Hugh, as He surely did; but there’s something savage in my
nature, which has not been all subdued, and sometimes I’m rebellious,
just as you see me now, and my heart, which at first was full of love
for George, goes out against him for his base treachery.”
“And yet you love him still?” Alice said, inquiringly as she smoothed
the beautiful brown hair.
“I suppose I do. A kind word from him would bring me back, but will it
ever be spoken? Shall we ever meet again?”
She was silent a moment, and then Alice said, “I do not seek your
confidence unless you are willing to give it. As you have told me your
story in part, will you tell me the whole?”
There was no vindictiveness now in Adah’s face, and the soft brown eyes
drooped mournfully beneath the heavy lashes as she told the story of her
wrongs. Told of a young girl at Madam Dupont’s school, of the elegant
stranger present at one examination, and who watched her with unfeigned
interest as she worked out upon the board a most difficult problem in
Euclid, standing so near to her that once when she accidentally dropped
her crayon he picked it up and offered it to her with a few whispered
words of commendation for her skill in mathematics. Of a chance meeting
in the street. Of walks and rides, and blissful interviews at her own
cozy little room in the boarding-house, where she had lived for years.
Of marriage proposed at last, and sanctioned by her guardian. Of the
necessity urged upon her why it should be kept a secret until the proud
relatives were reconciled. Of going one night with her lover, her
guardian and another witness, far out into the suburbs of the city to
the house of a justice, who made her George’s wife. Of her guardian’s
sudden departure, she knew not whither. Of a removal to another
boarding-house more obscure, and in a part of the city where she never
met again with any whom she had known before. Of months of perfect
happiness. Of the hope growing within her that she was gradually,
leading George to God. Of letters from home which made him blue, and
which she never saw. Of his leaving her at last without a word or sign
that he was going or had grown weary of her. Of the terrible suspense,
the cruel letter, the attempt to take her life, of Willie’s birth, of
her being turned from the house as a disreputable character, and coming
at last to Spring Bank in quest of Hugh, and of the gradual dying out,
as she sometimes feared, of her love for George Hastings.
“And Hugh?” Alice said, when Adah paused. “Why did you come to him? Had
you known him before?”
“Hugh was that other witness. I never saw him till that night, neither,
I think, did George. My guardian planned the whole.”
“Hugh Worthington is not the man I took him for,” and Alice spoke
bitterly, a look of horror on her face which Adah quickly detected.
“You mistake him,” she cried eagerly. “He is all you imagine him to be,
the noblest, truest man, and the best friend I ever had. My guardian
possessed a most singular power over all young men, and Hugh was fresh
from the country. I don’t know where or how they met, but at a hotel, I
think. He did not know it was a farce. He went in perfect good faith,
although he says since that it did once occur to him that something
might be wrong.
“And your guardian,” interrupted Alice, “is it not strange that he
should have acted so cruel a part, particularly if, as you sometimes
fancied, he was your father?”
“Yes, that’s the strangest part of all. I cannot understand it, or where
he is, though I sometimes imagined he must be dead, or in prison,” and
Adah thought of what Sam had said concerning Sullivan, the
negro-stealer.
“What do you mean; why should he be in prison?” Alice asked in some
surprise, and Adah replied by telling her what Sam had said, and the
reason she had for thinking Sullivan and her guardian, Redfield, one and
the same.
Just then Willie’s voice was heard in the hall, and hastening to the
door Alice admitted him into the room. Taking him in her lap she kissed
his rosy cheek, and pushing back his soft curls said to Adah, “Do you
know I think he looks like _Hugh_?”
“Yes,” and Adah spoke sadly. “I know he does, and I am sorry for Hugh’s
sake, as it must annoy him. Neither can I account for it, for I am
certainly nothing to Hugh. But there’s another look in Willie’s face,
his father’s. Oh, Miss Johnson, George was handsome, and ’twas his face
which first attracted me.”
“Can you describe him, or will it be too painful?” Alice asked, and
forcing back her tears, Adah told how George Hastings looked, while
Alice’s hands worked nervously together, and her heart beat almost
audibly, for, save the absence of moustache and whiskers, which might
have been grown since, Adah was describing _Dr. Richards_.
“And you’ve never seen him since, nor heard from him, nor guessed where
his mother lived?”
“Never, and when only the wrong is remembered, I think I never care to
see or hear from him again; but when the love I bore him comes surging
back, as it sometimes does, I’d crawl to the end of the world for one
more tender look from him. I’d lay his boy at his feet and die there
myself so willingly. I used to form all sorts of castles about his
coming after me, but they are all blown down, and I’ve learned to look
the future in the face, to know that I must meet it alone. I wish there
was something I could do to relieve Hugh of the expense I am to him. I
did not know till after I was sick last spring how very poor he was, and
how many self denials he had to make for his family. I heard his mother
talking with Aunt Eunice when they thought I was asleep, and it almost
broke my heart. He goes without decent clothes, without a fire in his
room on wintry nights, goes without every thing, and then _’Lina_ calls
him mean and stingy. The noble, self-denying Hugh! I would almost die
for him; and I ask God every day to bring him some good fortune at
last.”
“I never knew that Mr. Worthington was so straightened,” said Alice.
“Was Rocket sold to Col. Tiffton for debt?”
“Yes, for ’Lina’s debts, contracted at Harney’s and for my sick bills,
too. I’ve cried the hardest over that, for I know how Hugh loved that
horse, but the worst of it is that Col. Tiffton has in some way become
indebted to Harney for an immense sum of money. I don’t understand it,
but the colonel signed a note for ten thousand dollars with somebody and
for somebody, both of which somebodys have failed, and the colonel has
to pay. It will take his home, they say, and his personal property,
including Rocket, whom Harney is determined to secure. I’ve heard of his
boasting that Hugh should yet be compelled to see him galloping down the
pike upon his idol.”
“He never shall!” and Alice spoke under her breath, asking further
questions concerning the sale of Colonel Tiffton’s house, and how much
Mosside was worth.
Adah could not tell. She only knew that Rocket was pawned for five
hundred dollars. “Once I insanely hoped that I might help redeem
him—that God would find a work for me to do—and my heart was so happy
for a moment.”
“What did you think of doing?” Alice asked, glancing at the delicate
young girl, who looked so unaccustomed to toil of any kind.
“I thought to be a governess or waiting-maid,” and Adah’s lip began to
quiver as she told how, before coming to Spring Bank, she had advertised
for such a situation; how she had waited and watched for an answer, and
how at last it came, or at least the words seemed addressed _to her_,
and she had thought to answer it, but had been discouraged by ’Lina.
“Do you remember the address?” and Alice waited curiously for the
answer.
“Yes, ‘A. E. R., SNOWDON.’ You came from Snowdon, Miss Johnson, and I’ve
wanted so much to ask if you knew ‘A. E. R.’”
Alice was confounded. Surely the leadings of Providence were too plainly
evident to be unnoticed. There was a reason why Adah Hastings must go to
Anna Richards, and Alice hastened to explain who the Richards family
were.
“Oh, I can’t go there. They are too proud. They would hate me for
Willie, and ask me for his father,” Adah cried, the tears breaking
through the fingers she pressed before her eyes.
Very gently Alice talked to her of Anna, so lovely in disposition, so
beautiful in her mature womanhood. Adah would be happy with her, she
said, and Anna would be a second mother to her child. She did not hint
of her suspicions that at Terrace Hill Adah would find _George_ for fear
she might be mistaken, but she talked of Snowdon and Anna Richards, whom
Adah was sure to like.
“I’m so glad for your sake that it has come round at last,” she said.
“Will you write to her to-day, or shall I for you? Perhaps I had
better.”
“No, no, oh, no—” and Adah’s voice trembled, for she shrank nervously
from the thought of meeting the Richards family.
If ’Lina liked the old lady, she certainly could not, and the very
thought of these elder sisters, in all their primness, dismayed and
disheartened her.
“There’s a young man, is there not—a Dr. Richards?” she asked.
“Yes; but he is not often at home. He need be no bugbear. He is
practicing in New York, when practicing at all. At present he is at
Saratoga.”
Adah looked up quickly, guessing, in a moment, what was keeping ’Lina
there, and feeling more averse than ever to Terrace Hill.
Gradually, however, as Alice continued to talk of Anna, her feelings
changed and she said at last, “I will go to Miss Richards, but not till
Hugh is better, not till he knows and approves. Do you think it will be
long before be regains his reason!”
Alice could not tell. She hoped for the best, and thought with Adah that
she ought to stay until he could be consulted.
“Do you correspond with Miss Richards?” Adah suddenly asked, after a
long reverie.
“No, she dreads writing letters above all things else, while I am a
wretchedly negligent correspondent. I will send a note of introduction
by you, though.”
“Please don’t,” and Adah spoke pleadingly, “I should have to give it if
you did, and I’d rather go by myself. I know it would be better to have
your influence, but it is a fancy of mine not to say that I ever knew
you or any one at Spring Bank. I imagine this Dr. likes ’Lina, and they
might question me of her. I could not say much that was good, and I
should not like to say bad things of Hugh’s sister. Then, too, Miss
Richards never need know of my past life unless I choose to let her, as
I should have to do in telling her how I came at Spring Bank.”
Alice could understand Adah’s motives in part, and feeling sure that
whatever she might say would be the truth, she did not press the matter,
but suffered her to proceed in her own way. Now it was settled that Adah
should go, she felt a restless, impatient desire to be gone, questioning
the doctor closely with regard to Hugh, who it seemed to her, would
never waken from the state of unconsciousness into which he had fallen,
and from which he only rallied for an instant, just long enough to
recognize his mother, but never Alice or herself, both of whom watched
over him day and night, waiting anxiously for the first symptom which
should herald his return to reason.