"I SHALL love your mother very much, Charles, but do you think shewill love me?" said a graceful young creature, leaning with an airof tender confidence upon the arm of her companion, and lookingearnestly in his face. She was a little above the ordinary stature,with a form so delicate as to appear almost fragile, a puresemi-transparent skin, and a cheek--
"Like the apple-tree blossom, By the dew-fountain fed, Was the bloom of her cheek, With its white and its red."
Eyes of heaven's own blue beamed with love and delight, as theywandered over the frank, honest face of the young man, who stoodlooking down into them, as they reflected back his own image. Hecould not love himself without harm to himself, but he could gazeon, and love to gaze for ever upon the image of himself pictured inthose dear eyes, and yet be innocent.
"Love you, Ellen? How can she help loving you?"
"I do not know why any one should love me," was the artless reply.
"I do not know how any one can help loving you."
"Ah, you may think so, but every one does not see with your eyes;and maybe, you are only blinded. I am not perfect, Charles; don'tforget that."
"You are perfect to me, and that is all I ask. But say, Ellen, dear,sha'n't we be married in a month?"
"I am so young, Charles; and then I ought to be certain that yourmother is willing. Does she know all about it? You have written toher, have you not?"
The young man did not reply for some moments. Then he said--"Neverfear, Ellen; my mother will love you as her own child, when she seesand knows you. I have not written about you to her, because, as Imust tell you, my mother, though one of the best of women, is alittle proud of her standing in society. The moment I write to heron the subject, she will have a dozen grave questions to ask aboutyour family, and whether they are connected with this greatpersonage or that--questions that I despair of answering, in aletter, to her satisfaction. But your dear face will explain all,and stop all inquiries, when I present you to her as my wife."
"Don't be so certain of that, Charles. If your mother is proud ofher family, she will be mortified and displeased should her sonmarry an unknown girl."
"The proudest mother on earth would receive you into her bosom, andcall you daughter, without an emotion of wounded pride," was thelover's confident reply. "I know it. I know my mother too well, notto be confident on this subject."
"You ought to know, Charles; but I would much rather be certain. Ilove you better than my life; but if I thought that your marrying mewould separate you from your mother's love, I would never consent toa union. Ah, there can be no love so pure, so deep, so unselfish asa mother's love. A mother! Oh, how sweet the name! how holy theoffice! I can remember, though but faintly, my own mother. I was buta little girl when I lost her, but I still see her face as it oftenbent over me while I lay in my bed, and still, at times, can hearher voice. Oh, what would I not have given had she lived! Ah,Charles, be sure that in no act of your life you wrong your mother,or give her pain."
Charles Linden belonged to a family that claimed descent from somedistinguished ancestor on the mother's side--some one who had comefrom England a long time ago, and who, when there, was ranked one ofgentle blood. Of the worth of his principles, little was known. Hemay have been a high-minded and honourable man, or he may havepossessed qualities worthy of the detestation of all. Be that as itmay, Mrs. Linden valued herself highly on having come down in aright line, through three generations, from this distinguishedindividual; and there were plenty to estimate her by her ownstandard. As a woman, taking her for what she was worth, she wouldhave done very well, and received from all sensible people dueconsideration; but her true character as a woman was glossed overand somewhat defaced by her pride. She did not regard her ownqualities of mind as any thing--her standing as one of the truearistocrats of society was every thing. As for her husband, littlewas ever said about his ancestors; he had no scruples, while living,of an investigation, for he feared none. His father was a wealthymerchant, and his grandfather an honest farmer, who fought for hiscountry during the whole revolutionary campaign. The old soldierleft to his son the inheritance of sound moral principles, a goodeducation, and an enthusiastic love of his country. With these ashis only patrimony, he started in the world. At the age of fifty, hedied, leaving to his children an untarnished name and forty thousanddollars a piece.
The father of Charles Linden had been in business several years whenthis event took place, and had already acquired by his ownexertions, as well as by marriage, a handsome property. He died whenCharles, his eldest son, was but sixteen, leaving three children,two sons and one daughter; and a widow estimated to be worth ahundred thousand dollars. To each of the children he left fiftythousand dollars. This did not please the aristocratic notions ofthe mother. It would have been more in consonance with her views, ifbut one-third of the whole property had been left to her, and thebalance to their eldest son, with the reservation of small annuitiesfor the other children. In her own mind she determined to will allshe had to Charles, with the distinct proviso that he tookpossession of it only on the condition of dropping his father'sname, and assuming that of her family, which was Beauchamp.
Long before he was twenty-one years of age, she commenced herinsidious attacks upon his native manliness of character, whichshowed itself in a disposition to value every thing with which hecame in contact, according to intrinsic worth. He never bought ofthe family of any one with whom he was brown into association, butof qualities of head and heart. At school he had learned how toestimate individual worth; books, truly American books, conceived byAmerican minds, strengthened the right impression so made. When,therefore, Mrs. Linden attempted to show him that family was theprimary thing to be considered in his associations with people, herefforts were altogether fruitless.
All persons of Mrs. Linden's way of thinking make it a point to takethe marriage of their children pretty much into their own hands,believing that their external views on the subject are far betterthan the internal attraction toward an object that can be trulyloved, which their children imagine they feel--or, as they say,"imagine." The mother of Charles understood well her duty in thismatter. Long before her son had passed his fourteenth year, she hadmade a selection for him in a little Miss, younger than he was bytwo years, named Antoinette Billings. Antoinette's mother was awoman after Mrs. Linden's own heart. She understood the firstdistant hint made on the subject, and readily came to a fair andopen understanding with Mrs. Linden. Then it was managed so that thechildren were much together, and they were taught to look upon eachother as engaged for marriage at some future day.
Charles was a fine, noble-hearted boy; but Antoinette was a spoiled,pert, selfish creature, and had but little control over her tempers,that were by no means amiable. It was not long before the futurehusband, so called, wisely determined that Miss Antoinette shouldnever be his wife, and he told his mother so in very plain language.Mrs. Linden tried every art in her power to influence Charles, butit was no use. He inherited too much truly noble blood from thisindependent, right-thinking father.
At the age of twenty-one, he left his native place and entered intobusiness in a neighbouring city. His mother parted with himreluctantly; but there were strong reasons why he should go, and shedid not feel that it would be right to oppose him.
About a year after his removal from P--to his new place ofresidence, Charles Linden met Ellen Fleetwood. She had come recentlyfrom one of the Eastern States, and resided in the family of adistant relative. His first impressions were favourable--eachsubsequent meeting confirmed them--and, length, he found himselfreally attached to her. So little of his mother's peculiar spirithad he imbibed, that it did not once occur to him to ask about herfamily until he had made up his mind to offer himself in marriage.Inquiry on this subject resulted in the discovery that Ellen'sparents were distinguished from the mass in no particular way. Theyhad married early, and her mother died early. Her father, whose veryexistence seemed to have been wrapped up in that of his wife, wentaway soon after her death, and never returned. It was believed byhis friends that he did not survive her long. Ellen was then fiveyears old. An aunt adopted her and raised her as her own child. Ayear before Linden met her, this aunt had died, leaving her a smallincome. She removed shortly after this event, at the request of arelative--the only surviving one, as far as she knew--and now livedwith her. Of the precise character of the father and mother, hecould learn nothing. Ellen, therefore, neither lost nor gained anything in his eyes by birth. For what she was to him, and for thatalone, he loved her--and loved purely and tenderly.
An engagement took place in a few months after their acquaintancecommenced. It was shortly afterwards that the conversation detailedin the opening of our story commenced, from which it will appearthat Charles had not yet ventured to inform his mother of the choicehe had made. Knowing the strength of her peculiar prejudices, he hadevery thing to fear, as far as opposition was concerned. The factthat Ellen appeared so anxious to obtain her favour made him lesswilling to risk the consequences of informing his mother that he hadmade his choice of a wife. He knew she would oppose a marriage moststrenuously. What the effect of such opposition upon Ellen would be,it would be impossible to tell;--it might, he feared, lead her todecline his offer. For this reason, he urged an immediate union; andwished it to take place without his parent's knowledge. Ellenopposed this earnestly, but was finally induced to yield. They weremarried, and started the next morning to visit Mrs. Linden. Two daysbefore, Charles had written to inform his mother of what had takenplace, and of his intended return home, on a short visit, with hisbride.
"My dear mother," a portion of his letter read, "I know you will begrieved, and, I fear, offended at what I have done; but wait onlyfor a day or two, until you see my Ellen--your Ellen, let mesay--and you will be grieved and angry no longer. She will love youas only an unselfish child can love a mother; and you will love herthe moment you see her. I have talked to her from the first aboutyou, and she has already so pure an affection for you, that she islonging to see you and throw herself upon your bosom. Oh! let me begof you to receive her in the spirit with which she is coming to you.Be to her a mother, as she wishes to be to you a child."
It was not without many misgivings at heart that Charles Linden setout to visit his mother. These could not be felt without theireffects being perceived by Ellen, who was tremblingly anxious abouther reception. Her spirits became in consequence depressed, and morethan once Charles found tears stealing from beneath her half-closedeyelids. He understood well the cause, and strove, but vainly, toassure her that all would be as her heart could wish.
It was nearly nightfall when the carriage that conveyed them fromthe steamboat landing drew up before the elegant residence of Mrs.Linden. Charles hurried in with his bride in a tumult of anxiety. Aservant was sent up to announce his arrival. Five minutes passed,and they still sat alone in the parlour--Charles deeply agitated,and Ellen looking pale and frightened.
"What can keep her so long?" the young man had just said, in a huskywhisper, when the door opened and his mother entered with a slow,dignified step, her face calm, but severe, and her tall person drawnup to its full height. Charles started forward, but the instantlyraised hand and forbidding aspect of his mother restrained him.
"Don't come near me," said she, coldly--"you have done that forwhich I never shall forgive you. Go at once from my presence, withthe mean-spirited creature who has dared to suppose that I wouldacknowledge as my daughter one who has corrupted and robbed me of myson. Go! We are mother and son no longer. I dissolve the tie. Go!"
And the mother, whose assumed calmness had given way to a highlyexcited manner, waved her hand imperatively towards the door.
Ellen, who had started up at the moment Mrs. Linden appeared, nowcame forward, and, throwing herself at her feet, clasped her handstogether, and lifted her sweet pale face and tearful eyes. For aninstant the mother's face grew dark with passion; then she made amovement as if she were about to spurn the supplicant indignantly,when Charles sprang before her, and lifting Ellen in his arms, boreher from the house, and placed her half fainting in the carriagethat still stood at the door. A hurried direction was given to thedriver, who mounted his box and drove off to a hotel, where theypassed the night, and, on the next morning, returned home to thecity they had left on the previous day.
It was long before a smile lighted the countenance of the youngbride. In silence she upbraided herself for having been the cause ofestranging from each other mother and son.
"It was wrong," she said, in a sad tone, when, after the passage ofa month, the subject was conversed about between them with more thanusual calmness. "You should, first of all, have written to yourmother, and asked her consent."
"But I knew she would not give it. I knew her peculiar prejudicestoo well. My only hope was the impression your dear face would makeupon her. I was sure that for her to see you would be to love you.But I was mistaken."
"Alas! too sadly mistaken. We have made her unhappy through life.Oh! how that thought distresses me."
"She deserves all the unhappiness she may feel. For me, I do notpity her." Charles Linden said this with a good deal of bitterness.
"Oh! Charles--do not speak so--do not feel so. She is your mother,and you acted against what you knew to be one of her strongestprejudices," Ellen said earnestly. "I do not feel angry with her.When I think of her, it is with grief, that she is unhappy. The timemay yet come--pray heaven it come quickly!--when she will feeldifferently toward one whose heart she does not know--when she willlove me as a mother."
"She does not deserve the love of one like you," was the bitterlyspoken reply.
"Ah, Charles! why will you speak so? It is not right."
"I can no more help it than I can help feeling and thinking, Ellen.I am indignant, and I must express my feelings. What a poorsubstitute is birth, or family connexion, or standing in society fora mother to offer to her son, in the place of a pure heart that canlove fervently. If I had yielded to dictation on this subject, Iwould long ago have been the unhappy husband of a vain, selfish,proud creature, whom I never could have loved. No--no--Ellen. Icannot help being angry, if I may so speak, at the thought of suchunjust, such unwise assumption of the prerogative in a parent. It isGod who joins together in orderly marriage--not man; and when manattempts to assume the place of God in this matter, his work isevil. I would give my child, were I a parent, all the light, all theintelligence in my power to give him, and then let him choose forhimself. To do more, would be, in my opinion, a sin against God,and, as such, I would shun it with horror."
In time, the deep affliction of mind which Ellen had experiencedsubsided. She felt the injustice of Mrs. Linden's conduct, and,though she had no indignant nor unkind feeling toward her, shethought of her without an emotion of filial regard. Year after yearwent by, and, as no notice whatever was taken of Charles and hiswife by Mrs. Linden, they did not again venture near her, nor takeany pains to conciliate her favour. Her treatment of Ellen had sooutraged her son, that he tried to forget that he had a mother; forhe could not think of her without a bitterness which he did not wishto feel. The only means of knowing what took place at home wasthrough his sister, between whom and himself had always existed awarm affection. She wrote to him frequently, and he as well as hiswife wrote to her often. Their letters to her were, at her request,sent under cover to a friend, to prevent the unpleasant consequencesthat would ensue, should the proud, overbearing mother become awareof the correspondence.
From his sister, who had something of his own independence offeeling, Charles learned, that his brother William, at his mother'sinstance, was about to marry Antoinette Billings. And, also, that anapplication had been made to the legislature to have his namechanged to Beauchamp, his mother's family name. As an inducement forhim to gratify her pride in this thing, Mrs. Linden had promisedWilliam, that, on the very day that the legislature granted thepetition, she should transfer to him the whole amount of herproperty, with the exception of about twenty thousand dollars.Subsequently, Charles learned that the name of his brother had beenchanged; that the marriage had taken place; and that his mother hadrelinquished all her property, with a small reservation, into thehands of her son. All this took place within three years after hismarriage.
The next intelligence was of an attempt being made to forceFlorence, his sister, into a marriage most repugnant to herfeelings. This aroused his indignation afresh. He wrote to herstrongly, and conjured her by every high and holy consideration notto permit the sacrifice to take place. Florence possessed too muchof the same spirit that he did to yield tamely in a matter likethis. His frequent letters strengthened her to resist all theattempts of her mother and brother to induce her to yield to theirmercenary wishes. Finding that she was firm, a system ofpersecution, in the hope of forcing her to an assent, was commencedagainst her. As soon as Charles learned this, he went immediately toP--, and saw Florence at the home of a mutual friend. He hadlittle difficulty in persuading her to return home with him. Neitherher mother nor William showed her any real affection, and they wereboth plotting against her happiness for life. On the other hand,there had always been between her and Charles a deep attachment. Shenot only loved him, but confided in him. She had never seen hiswife; but Charles had written so much about her, and Ellen's lettershad pictured a mind so gentle, so good, that Florence loved her onlyless than she loved her brother. And there was another there tolove, of whom she had heard much--a fair-haired girl named Florence.Is it a subject of wonder that she fled from her mother, to find aparadise in comparison to what she had left, in the home of Charlesand his pure-hearted companion? We think not.
The meeting between her and Ellen was one in which both their heartsoverflowed--in which affections mingled--in which two loving spiritsbecame united in bonds that nothing could break.
We turn, now, to the disappointed Mrs. Linden. Knowing that toinform her mother of the step she had resolved to take would do nogood, but only cause her to endure a storm of passion, Florence lefthome without the slightest intimation of her purpose.
Mrs. Linden, in settling upon her son William her whole estate, withthe small reservation before mentioned, gave up to him the splendidmansion in which she lived, with its costly furniture--and theentire control of it, as a matter that followed of course, to hisyoung wife. Many months had not passed, before doubts of thepropriety of what she had done began to creep into the mind of Mrs.Linden. Her pride of family had been gratified--but already had herpride of independence been assailed. It was plain that she was notnow of as much importance in the eyes of her son as before. As toAntoinette, the more she came intimately in contact with her, theless she liked her. She found little in her that she could love. Thescheme of marrying Florence to a young man of "one of the firstfamilies" (the only recommendation he had) was heartily entered intoby this worthy trio, and while there was a prospect of itsaccomplishment, they drew together with much appearance of harmony.
The end united them. But after Florence had broken away from thetoils they had been throwing around her, and they became satisfiedfrom the strong independent letters which she sent home, that allhope of bending her to their wishes was at an end, the truecharacter of each began to show itself more fully.
Mrs. Linden had an imperious will. She had always exercised over herchildren a rigid control, at the same time that in their earlieryears she had won their affections. The freedom of mature years, andthe sense of individual responsibility which it brings, caused allof them to rebel against the continued exercise of parentaldomination. In the case of Charles and Florence, the effect was abroad separation. William had sinister ends to gain in yielding apassive obedience to his mother's will. When the bulk of herproperty was transferred to him, those ends were gained, and he feltno longer disposed to suffer any encroachment upon his freedom. Inone act of obedience he had fulfilled all obligations of filialduty, and was not disposed to trouble himself further. He hadconsented to give up his father's name, and to marry a woman forwhom he had no affection, to please his mother and get an estate.The estate set off against these balanced the account; and now,there being nothing more to gain, he had nothing more to yield.When, therefore, after the design of marrying Florence to a man of"good family" had failed, the first effort on the part of his motherto exercise control over him was met in a very decided way. Hiswife, likewise, showed a disposition to make her keep in her ownplace. She was mistress in the house now, and she let it be clearlyseen. It was not long before the mother's eyes were fully open tothe folly she had committed. But true sight had come too late.Reflection on the ungratefulness of her children aroused herindignation, instead of subduing her feelings. An open ruptureensued, and then came a separation. Mrs. Linden left the house ofher son--but a short time before it was her own house--and tooklodgings in the family of an old friend, with a heart full ofbitterness toward her children. In Antoinette she had been miserablydisappointed. A weak, vain, passionate, selfish creature, she hadshown not the slightest regard for Mrs. Linden, but had exhibitedtoward her a most unamiable temper.
When it was communicated to Antoinette by her husband that hismother had left them, she tossed her head and said--"I'm glad tohear it."
"No, you must not say that," was William's reply, with an effort tolook serious and offended.
"And why not? It's the truth. She has made herself as disagreeableas she could, ever since we were married, and I would be a hypocriteto say that I was not glad to be rid of her."
"She is my mother, and you must not speak so about her," returnedWilliam, now feeling really offended.
"How will you help it, pray?" was the stinging reply. And theill-tempered creature looked at her husband with a curl of the lip.
Muttering a curse, he turned from her and left the house. The rageof a husband who is only restrained by the fear of disgrace fromstriking his wife, is impotent. His only resource is to fly from theobject of indignation. So felt and acted William Beauchamp. A merewordy contention with his wife, experience had already proved tohim, would be an inglorious one.
Fearing, from his knowledge of his brother's character anddisposition, a result, sooner or later, like that which had takenplace, Charles Linden, although he had no correspondence with any ofhis family, had the most accurate information from a friend of allthat transpired at P--.
One evening, on coming home from business and joining his wife andsister, between whom love had grown into a strong uniting bond, hesaid--"I have rather painful news from P--."
"What is it?" was asked by both Ellen and Florence, with anxiousconcern on both their faces.
"Mother has separated herself from William and his wife."
"What I have been expecting to hear almost every day," Florencereplied. "Antoinette has never treated mother as if she had theslightest regard for her. As to love, she has but one object uponwhich to lavish it--that is herself. She cares no more for Williamthan she does for mother, and is only bound to him by externalconsideration. But where has mother gone?"
"To the house of Mrs. R---."
"An old friend?"
"Yes. But she must be very unhappy."
"Miserable." And tears came to the eyes of Ellen.
"In the end, it will no doubt be best for her, Florence," said thebrother. "She will suffer acutely, but her false views of life, letus hope, will be corrected, and then we shall have it in our powerto make her last days the best and happiest of her life."
"Oh, how gladly will I join in that work!" Mrs. Linden said, with aglow of pure enthusiasm on her face. "Write to her, dear husband, atonce, and tell her that our home shall be her home, and that we willlove her with an unwavering love."
"Not yet, dear," returned Charles Linden, in a voice scarcelyaudible from emotion, turning to Ellen and regarding her a momentwith a look of loving approval. "Not yet; the time for that willcome, but it is not now. My mother's heart is full of haughty pride,and she would spurn, indignantly, any overtures we might make."
Much conversation passed as to what should be their future conductin regard to the mother. Ellen was anxious to make advances at once,but the husband and his sister, who knew Mrs. Linden much betterthan she did, objected.
"Time will indicate what is right for us to do," her husband said."Let us keep our hearts willing, and we shall have the opportunityto act before many years pass by."
"Years?" said Ellen, in an earnest, doubting voice.
"It may be only months, dear, and yet it may be years. It takes timeto break a haughty will, to humble a proud heart; but you shall yetsee the day when my mother will love you for yourself alone."
"Heaven grant that it may come soon!" was the fervent response.
Many months passed away, and yet the mother and son remained asbefore--unreconciled. He had kept himself accurately informed inregard to her--that is, accurately informed as it was possible forhim to be. During that time, she had never been seen abroad. Thosewho had met her, represented her as being greatly changed; all thesoftness of character that had been assumed in her intercourse withthe world had been laid aside; she was silent, cold, and stern toall who met her.
Deeply did this intelligence afflict Charles, and he yearned to drawnear to his mother; but he feared to do so, lest, in her haughtypride, she should throw him off again, and thus render areconciliation still more difficult, if not impossible.
While in this state of doubt, affairs assumed a new feature. Charlesreceived a letter from a friend, stating that the bankinginstitution, in the stocks of which his mother's entire property wasinvested, had failed, and that she was penniless.
"O Charles, go to her at once!" was the exclamation of Ellen, themoment her husband read to her the intelligence. "It is time now;all else has failed her."
"I do not know," he said, doubtingly. "This circumstance will makeWilliam sensible of his duty; he will, no doubt, restore her a partof the property received from her hands. This is the least he cando."
Florence differed with her brother. She did not believe that eitherWilliam or his wife would regard their mother in any way; both weretoo selfish and too unforgiving. Much was said all around, but noclear course of action was perceived.
"I'll tell you what you can do," spoke up Mrs. Linden, her eyessparkling. A thought had flashed over her mind.
"What is it, Ellen?" asked her husband.
"You can send her, under a blank envelope, a thousand dollars ormore, and thus keep her above the bitter feeling of dependence. Morecan be sent when more is required."
"True! true!" was the husband's quick reply. "And I will do it."
When the news of the failure of the bank in which the little remnantof her property was contained reached the ears of Mrs. Linden, herspirits sank. Pride had kept her up before; but now her haughtyself-dependence, her indignation, her bitterness of feeling towardher children, gave way, and, in conscious weakness, she bowed herhead and prayed for oblivion. She felt deserted by all; butindignation at this desertion was not the feeling that ruled in herheart; she felt weak, lonely, and powerless. From a high position,which she had held with imperious pride, she had fallen almostsuddenly into obscurity, desertion, and dependence. A week passed,and she began to think of her children; none of them had yet comenear her, or inquired for her. The thoughts of William and hisheartless wife caused old feelings of indignation to awaken andburn; but when the image of Charles and Florence came up before hermind, her eyes were ready to overflow. It was now that sheremembered, with changed emotions, the cruel manner in which she hadspurned Charles and the wife of his bosom. A sigh struggled up fromher heart, and she leaned down her face upon the table before whichshe was sitting. Just at this time, a small sealed package washanded to her. She broke it open carelessly; but its contents madeher heart bound, coming as they did just at that crisis. Under coverwas a bank-bill amounting to one thousand dollars, and thismemorandum--"It is yours."
Quickly turning to the direction, she read it over two or threetimes before satisfying herself that there was no mistake. Then sheexamined the writing within and without closely, in order toascertain, if possible, from whom the timely aid had come, butwithout arriving at any certain conclusion.
This incident caused a new train of thoughts to pass through themind of Mrs. Linden. It brought before her, she could not tell why,the image of her son Charles with greater distinctness than ever;and with that came thoughts of his wife, and regret that she hadthrown her off with such cruel anger. Acute pain of mind succeededto this. She saw more clearly her own position in that act, and feltdeeply the wrong she had committed.
"I will write to my son at once and ask his forgiveness, and that ofhis wife, whom I have wronged," she said, with a suddenly formedresolution. But pride rushed up instantly.
"No, no," it objected; "not now. You should have done this before:it is too late; they will not believe you sincere."
A painful conflict ensued, which continued with increasing violenceuntil, in consequence of prolonged mental excitement, a slow nervousfever took hold of Mrs. Linden's physical system, and in a shorttime reduced her to a very critical state. Intelligence of this wasconveyed to her son William, but, for some cause or other, neitherhimself nor wife visited her. At the end of a week she was so low asto be considered in great danger; she, no longer recognised theperson of her attendant, or appeared to be conscious of what waspassing around her.
A letter from a friend, through whom he was kept informed of allthat occurred to her, apprized Charles Linden of his mother'scritical situation.
"Florence," said he to his sister, in reading the letter to her andhis wife, "I think you and I should go to P--immediately. You canbe mother's nurse until she recovers, and then it may not be hard toreconcile all that is past."
Ellen looked earnestly in the face of her husband; something was onher tongue, but she appeared to hesitate about giving it utterance.
"Does not that meet your approval?" asked Charles.
"Why may not I be the nurse?" was asked in hesitating tones.
"You!" said Charles, in a voice of surprise. "That should be theduty of Florence."
"And my privilege," returned Ellen, speaking more firmly.
"What good would be the result?"
"Great good, I trust. Let me go and be the angel to hersick-chamber. She is too ill to notice any one; she will not,therefore, perceive that a stranger is ministering to her. As shebegins to recover, and I have an inward assurance that she will, Iwill bestow upon her the most assiduous attentions. I will inspireher heart with grateful affection for one whom she knows not; andwhen she asks for my name, I will conceal it until the right moment,and then throw myself at her feet and call her mother. Oh! let it bemy task to watch in her sick-chamber."
Neither Charles nor his sister said one word in opposition. On thenext day, they all started for P--. Charles Linden went with hisexcellent wife to the house where his mother was residing with anold friend, and opened to this friend their wishes. She readilyentered into their plans, and Ellen was at once constituted nurse.
For the first two days, there were but few encouraging symptoms.Mrs. Linden was in a very critical situation. At the end of a week,the fever abated, leaving the patient as helpless as an infant, andwith scarcely more consciousness of external things. During thistime, Ellen attended her with some of the feeling with which amother watches over her babe. Gradually the life-current in theveins of the sick woman became fuller and stronger. Gradually hermind acquired the power of acting through the external senses. Ellenperceived this. Now had come the ardently hoped-for time. With anoiseless step, with a voice low and tender, with hands that didtheir office almost caressingly, she anticipated and met every wantof the invalid.
As light began again to dawn upon the mind of Mrs. Linden, she couldnot but notice the sweet-faced, gentle, assiduous stranger who hadbecome her nurse. Her first feeling was one of gratitude, blendedwith affection. Never before had any one been so devoted to her;never before had any one appeared to regard her with such a realwish to do her good.
"What is your name, my dear?" she asked one day, in a feeble voice,looking up into her face.
A warm flush came over the cheeks of Ellen; her eyes dropped to thefloor. She hesitated for several moments; then she replied in a lowvoice--"Ellen."
Mrs. Linden looked at her earnestly, but said nothing in reply.
"Who is this nurse you have been so kind to procure for me?" Mrs.Linden said to her friend, a few days subsequently. She had gainedmuch in a short time.
"She is a stranger to me. I never saw her before she came and saidthat she had heard that there was a sick lady here who wished anurse."
"She did?"
"Yes."
"She must be an angel in disguise, then."
"So I should think," returned her friend. "I have never met alovelier person. Her face is sweetness itself; her manners are fullof ease and grace, and her heart seems a deep well of love to all."
"Who can she be? Where did she come from? I feel toward her as ifshe were my own child."
"But she is only a nurse," said her friend. "Do not forget that, noryour station in society."
Mrs. Linden shook her head and murmured--"I have never found onelike her in the highest places; no, not even in my own children.Station in society! Ah! my friend, that delusion has passed."
As Mrs. Linden recovered more and more, Ellen remained with her,waiting only for a good opportunity to make herself known. She didnot wish to do this until she was sure that she had awakened afeeling of affection in her mother's bosom.
Mrs. Linden had been sitting up for two or three days, so far hadshe recovered, and yet Ellen did not feel that it was safe toventure a full declaration of the truth.
Up to this time, neither William nor his wife had visited her, norsent to inquire about her. This fact Mrs. Linden knew, for she hadasked about it particularly. The name of Charles was nevermentioned.
In order to try its effect, Ellen said to her--"You are better now,Mrs. Linden, and will be well in a little while. You do not need meany longer. I will leave you to-morrow."
"Leave me!" ejaculated Mrs. Linden. "Oh, no, Ellen, you must notleave me; I cannot do without you. You must stay with me always."
"You would soon tire of such a one as I am."
"Never, my good girl, never! You shall always remain with me. Youshall be--not my nurse, but my child."
Mrs. Linden's voice trembled.
Ellen could hardly help throwing herself at her feet, and declaringthat she was really her child; but she controlled herself, andreplied--"That cannot be, madam; I have other duties to perform."
"You have? What? To whom?"
"To my husband and children."
"Gracious heaven! what do you mean? Who are you?"
"One who loved you before she ever saw you. One who loves you now."
"Speak, child! oh, speak!" exclaimed Mrs. Linden, turning suddenlypale, and grasping hold of Ellen with both her hands. "Who are you?What interest have you in me? Speak!"
"Do you love me?" asked Ellen, in a husky whisper.
"Love you! You have forced me to love you; but speak out. Who areyou?"
"Your daughter," was faintly replied.
"Who?"
"The wife of one who has never ceased to love you; the wife ofCharles Linden."
Mrs. Linden seemed paralyzed for some moments at this declaration.Her face became pale--her eye fell to the floor--she sat like one ina dream.
"Dear mother!" plead the anxious wife, sinking on her knees, "willyou not forgive your son? Will you not forgive me that I loved himso well? If you knew how much we love you--how anxious we are tomake you happy, you would instantly relent."
"My child! Oh, can it be true?" This was said in a choking voice byMrs. Linden, as she threw her arms around Ellen and held her to herbosom. In a few moments she withdrew herself, and fixed her eyeslong and earnestly upon Ellen's face.
"Ah! what a loving heart have I wronged!" she murmured, putting herhand upon the brow of her new-found child, tenderly. Then she drewher again almost convulsively to her bosom.
All that was passing within was heard without, for Charles and hissister were at the door: they entered at this moment.
"My mother!" exclaimed Charles, springing towards her.
"My son--my dear son! God bless you, and this dear child, who haswatched for days and nights like an angel about my pillow."
The mother and son were in each other's arms in a moment. All wasforgiven.
From that hour, the proud woman of the world saw with a purifiedvision. From that hour, she knew the worth of a pure heart.
THE END.
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