An American Story of Real Life CHAPTER 21.
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One evening, about two months from the day on which Mrs. Ware arrived at Wheeling, there sat, converging, in the handsomely furnished parlors of a house in Baltimore, a man and his wife, still youthful in appearance, but with a sober expression resting on their countenances. They had, evidently, known care and anxiety, but from the fact that no harsh lines marred the quiet tone of their faces, it was evident that their cares had been for others, more than for themselves. The man held an open letter in his hand, the contents of which formed the subject of conversation.
"There can be little doubt," remarked the wife, "that Bell's husband is the person to whom allusion is made. If she is still living, which I fear is not the case, she was, doubtless in company with him in Texas, when he met his awful fate."
"What more can be done?" said Mrs. Lane (The reader has, of course, already recognized Mary and her husband.) "We must not give her up."
"No, not until she is found, living or dead. If moved by no other consideration, I cannot break the solemn promise I made to old Mr. Martin, but an hour before his overburdened spirit took from earth, its everlasting departure. Nor the repeated assurance to Bell's mother, before she, too, followed quickly her husband's footsteps."
"It is now nearly two years since Bell went away," said Mrs. Lane, after a thoughtful silence. "Two years! How like a painful dream, do the events of that brief period come back upon the memory!"
"Painful, indeed to me. But, I can well believe, far more painful to you, Mary," her husband replied. "How utterly has the family of Mr. Martin been broken up, and well near extinguished."
"Strange and mysterious are the ways of Providence," Mary remarked, in a mournful tone.
"To me, there is nothing like mystery connected with the sad vicissitudes which have taken place in Mr. Martin's family. Most of them, I can readily trace to a clearly apparent cause--and that cause--the marriage of Bell.
"That it would cause Mr. Martin to lose his property, I began to fear soon after the marriage. The wicked manner in which Ware had deceived both his own and Mr. Martin's family, and the consequent unhappiness of Bell, so unsettled his mind, that he no longer gave that calm, earnest attention to business which had heretofore characterized him. Frequent losses were the consequence, which now always irritated, and made him less fitted for new transactions. The intimacy between him and old Mr. Ware likewise partook of a different character. Their business was more mingled--while neither of them was so well fitted for making good operations as before. At the time of Mr. Ware's failure, Mr. Martin was responsible for him to a heavy amount. The payment of this, crippled him very much. Then occurred the double shock of Bell's secret departure from home, andFanny's sudden death. And following, in quick succession, came a crisis in his business, which ended in utter bankruptcy. He survived this last shock, you know, only four weeks. Can you not now see how the marriage of Bell has led to all the sad results that followed?"
"Hark! Was not that a groan?" said Mrs. Lane. "There! Did you hear it again? It seemed to come from under our window."
Mr. Lane paused to listen, when the sound came again, distinct and mournful. He then arose, and proceeded to the door to ascertain the cause.
The reader has discovered enough in the conversation which passed between Mary Lane and her husband, to enable him to connect pretty distinctly, the whole chain of events in the history, now drawing to a close. Lane is partner in a large commission house, in Baltimore. As the rich merchant went rapidly down, the obscure, but honest, intelligent clerk--was slowly rising. The two children left by Bell, have been taken into Mary's fold and affections, and are loved equally with her own.
On the same evening, in the passage of which the scene and conversations above recorded, took place, poor Bell arrived in the city. She had walked nearly half the distance from Wheeling to Baltimore, riding the other half of the way through the kind indulgence of a humane wagoner. Two months had been consumed in the journey--six weeks of which time she lay at the house of a farmer, who had picked her up, fainting, on the road.
Arrived at Baltimore, her clothes soiled and worn, without one cent to buy a mouthful of food, and ill from fatigue and loss of rest, she descended from the wagon, and turned away, with weak and trembling limbs, to go, she knew not where. Thoughts of home, and parents, and children, roused her up for a few moments--but her spirit quickly sank, while her limbs trembled more and more as she walked slowly along. At last she grew so faint that she had to pause and lean against something for support. Then she gradually sank down upon the pavement, overcome with a feeling of deathly sickness, and soon became insensible.
How long she remained in that condition, she knew not. When consciousness again returned, a great change had taken place. She was lying upon a bed, in a handsomely furnished chamber, and as she turned her eyes slowly around, some few objects looked strangely familiar to her. In attempting to move, she felt very weak, but had no sensation of pain or sickness. No one appeared to be in the room, and she lay for many minutes endeavoring in vain to settle the question whether she were really awake, or dreaming.
"Where am I?" she at length murmured, half audibly.
The sound of her voice startled a female, before hidden by the curtains of the bed, who sprung forward, and stood for a moment looking into her face.
"Mary! dear Mary! is it indeed you? or is this but a mocking dream?" ejaculated Bell, rising up quickly, and falling forward into Mary's arms.
"You are Bell I--my long lost, long mourned, dear sister Bell! And I am Mary!" whispered Mrs. Lane, as she drew Bell to her heart, in a long embrace.
"And my children! O, Mary, where are they?"
Mary did not reply to this, but left the bed and stepped quickly out of the room. When she returned with Bell's two children, so little changed to the mother's eye, that she almost sprang from the bed the moment their bright young faces came in sight. How tenderly--how wildly did Mrs. Ware clasp to her bosom, these near treasures, once more restored to her!
We care not to pain the reader with an account of her grief on learning the death of her parents. Let that sleep with her subsequent history, which only contains this much of interest to the reader, that she found with Mary and her husband, a permanent and peaceful home.
THE END.
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