Eagerly those brown eyes looked up as Hattie entered Mrs. Emory’s
chamber, and in the yearning look, even in the features, Hattie
recognized a resemblance to Jessie Albemarle.
“Oh, thank you, Miss Butler. I am so glad you have come,” said Mrs.
Emory, in a low, tremulous voice. “I have something to ask you, and
then perhaps a long, strange story to tell you in all confidence.”
“Your confidence, dear madam, shall not be misplaced, and I will answer
any question you ask, if it be in my power to do so.”
“Thank you, dear, I feel that it is so. Lock the door, please. I do not
wish to be interrupted by any one while we are together. Then come and
sit here close by my side. Do not fear that I shall faint again. It was
a sudden shock that caused it before; but now I am prepared and calm.”
Hattie locked the door, and then seated herself, as desired, close to
Mrs. Emory.
“You spoke a name yesterday--a name very, very dear to me,” said Mrs.
Emory. “You see it here, engraved on a golden necklace, which was once
worn by a little child.”
Hattie started in spite of herself. Was that the necklace that Miss
Scrimp had spoken of? For on it she saw the name of “Jessie Albemarle”
engraved.
“You start. Have you ever heard of this necklace or seen it before?”
asked Mrs. Emory, eagerly.
“If it was once on the neck of an infant left at the orphan asylum by
unknown parties I have heard of it,” said Hattie.
“It was. Now tell me--oh, tell me quick, if you know. Is that child yet
living?”
“She is, dear lady.”
“Where--where--tell me, I implore you! I am that child’s mother!”
“I have thought so ever since I met you, dear lady,” said Hattie. “This
very morning I was looking in Jessie’s brown eyes and studying her
features, and I never saw a stronger resemblance than you bear to each
other.”
“This morning? This morning you saw her?” gasped Mrs. Emory, trembling
with excitement.
“Yes, madam, and you can soon see her. But please be calm, or you will
have another attack.”
“Oh! I will be calm. But the thought of seeing her, knowing she is
alive, is almost too much happiness. Tell me, is she good, pure, like
yourself?”
“She is good and pure, Mrs. Emory. For two years and more I have seen
her every day, and have had the good fortune to render her more than
one kindness and to protect her from the abuse of a cruel mistress.”
“Our Father in Heaven will reward you for it.”
“Did you not, nearly two years ago--I do not know exactly the time,
however--call at a house where this poor girl had been bound out, to
inquire after her?” asked Hattie.
“Yes, I had just found out, by a long-concealed paper, where my first
husband, her father, had taken her when I was helplessly ill. To get
rid of her care he pretended she was dead, and so I mourned her,
until at last, by accident, after his death, I found his confession,
in which he stated where he had left her, also that on her neck he
had left the necklace I had caused to be made when we named her. I
went there to the asylum as soon as I could, and the matron gave me
the address of the woman who had taken her. I went there, and the
woman told me she had run away from her, and she knew not, cared not,
where she was. My agony of disappointment threw me into a long fit of
sickness, and I had almost given up a hope of ever seeing my child. The
authorities at the asylum went to the woman, and her report to them was
the same as to me. All I could get to identify my dear babe was this
necklace and some clothes I had made for her to be christened in, which
were on her when her unnatural father took her away, and left her to
the charity of strangers. Oh, how soon can I clasp her in my arms!”
“If you were able to ride, within the hour,” said Hattie.
“Oh, I am well. I am strong now. Let me order the carriage at once.”
Hattie saw that though she believed herself strong she was yet very
weak. Her pallor and tremulous action showed that. And Hattie had
another fear. She knew Miss Scrimp would hide Jessie away rather than
let her go, if she could, or dared to do it. And she was at heart
almost bad enough to do anything. And Hattie knew that there must be
a regular way to force Miss Scrimp at once to yield up the poor girl,
without Hattie herself using the hold she had upon her.
“Can you ride with Mr. Legare and myself first to the asylum, and get
from the superintendent there an order for the child as her mother?”
asked Hattie.
“Oh, yes--that is the way. My brother-in-law knows the whole story, as
I have told it to you, although, for reasons of our own, we have kept
it from Frank and Lizzie.”
“Then let me ring for Mr. Legare. The poor girl is at my
boarding-house, and before the sun sets on this day, please Heaven, she
shall be in your arms.”
“Heaven must reward you. I never, never can!” sobbed Mrs. Emory.
Hattie opened the door, called a servant, and in a few moments Mr.
Legare was in the room.
He wondered at the joyous light which shone in the eyes of his dear
sister; but the happy story was soon told, and he now knew also that
his sister had fainted the night before when told she was looking on
the portrait of her lost child.
“The ways of Providence are inscrutable, mysterious, but they ever
lead aright,” said Mr. Legare. “Who would have thought that my chance
acquaintance with Miss Butler, through those old books, could lead to
this happy result? My dear young lady, we owe you a debt of gratitude
which it seems impossible to repay. Sister, take some refreshment
to strengthen you, and soon we will be on our way to reclaim your
long-lost loved one.”
And now Lizzie and Frank were sent in by their father, for the story
was no longer a family secret.
“You are to have a real cousin now,” said Hattie to Lizzie, after the
story was told.
“But she’ll not be like you. I shall never love her half so well,”
sighed Lizzie.
“She is a sweet girl, and very smart, for the chances she has had. It
will take but a little while, with good teachers, to make her one to be
really proud of.”
Mr. Legare and Mrs. Emory were now ready, and with Hattie they went out
to the carriage.
It was astonishing to see the change in the lately invalid lady. New
hope, new joys, new life beamed in her eyes--her very step was elastic
and happy.
“This is better than medicine. We’ll have to discharge the doctor, and
keep you with us,” said Mr. Legare to Hattie, as the carriage dashed
away to its destination.
“We will keep her,” said Mrs. Emory. “I had intended to adopt her in
place of my lost child, and now I will have two daughters instead of
one.”
Tears arose in Hattie’s eyes, but she made no reply then.