From Mrs Davis I had obtained my mother's address; and I went at once
in search of the place.
Passing along the street, to which I had been directed, I saw a small,
but neat-looking shop, with the words "_Mrs Leary, Milliner and
Dress-Maker_" painted over the door. I had journeyed far in search of
my mother; I had just arrived from a long voyage--which it had taken
three ships to enable me to complete. The weariness of spirit, and
impatience caused by the delay, had been a source of much misery to me;
but now that the object of my search was found--and there was nothing
further to do than enter the house and greet my long-lost relatives--
strange enough, I felt as if there was no more need for haste! Instead
of at once stepping into the house, I passed nearly an hour in the
street--pacing up and down it, altogether undetermined how to act.
During that hour my thoughts were busy, both with the past and future:
for I knew that in the interview I was about to hold with my mother,
topics must come into our conversation of a peculiar kind, and such as
required the most serious reflection on my part, before making myself
known to her.
Should I make her acquainted with the ignominious termination of Mr
Leary's career; and by that means endeavour to put an end to her strange
infatuation for him? If what Mrs Davis had told me regarding her
should turn out to be true, I almost felt as if I could no longer regard
her as a mother. Indeed, when I reflected on her affection for such a
wretch as Leary, I could not help some risings of regret, that I should
have lost so much time, and endured so many hardships, in search of a
relative who could be guilty of such incurable folly.
Notwithstanding the time spent in pacing through the street, I could
determine on no definite course of action; and, at length, resolving to
be guided by circumstances, I stepped up to the house, and knocked at
the door.
It was opened by a young woman, about nineteen years of age.
I should not have known who she was, had I not expected to meet
relatives; but the girl was beautiful, and just such as I should have
expected to find my sister Martha. My thoughts had so often dwelt upon
my little sister; that I had drawn in my mind an imaginary portrait of
her. Her blue eyes and bright hair, as well as the cast of her
countenance, and form of her features, had ever remained fresh and
perfect in my memory. I had only to gaze on the young girl before me,
refer to my mental picture of little Martha, remember that eleven years
had passed since last I saw her, and be certain that I had found my
sister.
I knew it was she; but I said nothing to make the recognition mutual. I
simply asked for Mrs Leary.