CHAPTER 7.
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"Did you see my children?" This was the eagerly asked question of the mother, as Alice entered her room, after returning from her visit to the house of Mr. Waverly.
"Yes," replied the girl, in a half absent manner.
"Did Ada know you?" inquired Mrs. Waverly.
"She did not seem to at first. But Herbert remembered me the instant I went in. Ada kept her eyes fixed upon me, with a half timid, half wondering expression on her face, for some minutes. When at length, I held out my hands to her, she came to me, walking slowly, as if still in some doubt.
"'Do you know me, dear?'" I asked.
"'Yes,' she answered in a whisper, and as she did so, leaned her weight upon me; looking at the same time into my face with a sad earnestness, that was really touching."
"Dear, dear child!" exclaimed Mrs. Waverly, as Alice, said this, clasping her hands together, and trembling, from excitement, in every limb.
"I then lifted her upon my lap," continued Alice, "and she leaned her head against me, with as much confidence as if I had been her best friend."
"And one of her best friends I trust you will be!" said Mrs. Waverly. "For you will bring her to the arms of her mother. Heaven grant that it be done right speedily! Did you see Mr. Waverly?"
"Yes ma'am."
"You did!"
"Yes. I met him at the door as I was leaving." Mrs. Waverly looked frightened as Alice said this. "Did he know you?" she inquired.
"Oh, yes. He called me by name, and seemed pleased to see me."
"He asked if I had seen the children, if they knew me, and if I thought them much improved."
Mrs. Waverly bent towards the girl, and listened with the most absorbed attention.
"He seemed pleased when I told him that they knew me, and were glad to see me."
"He did!"
"Yes. Then he asked me where I was living."
"What did you say?"
"I told him that I had been living at the Mansion House, but was now out of a place."
"Well?" Mrs. Waverly's frame fairly quivered in the eagerness in which she was listening.
"He then wished to know how I would like to come and live in his family again."
"Alice!"
"He said that he was afraid the girl who had the care of the children, was not kind to them, and that he wanted someone in her place, as he was going to send her away."
"And you told him you would take her place?"
"Yes."
"Kind Heaven! Am I not thankful in my heart of hearts!" murmured Mrs. Waverly in a low voice, while her eyes, from which tears suddenly streamed forth, were lifted upwards. "A little while longer — and I shall clasp them in my arms. The children given me by God, but long separated — will soon be mine again. When are you to go there?"
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow. So soon?"
"Yes. Mr. Waverly wished me to come immediately."
"Let it be so, then. The earlier the better. How smoothly the current runs! In a little while, they will be mine again."
Alice made no response to this; but sat, with her eyes cast upon the floor, and a shadow over her face, the reflection of some unpleasant thoughts.
"Tomorrow," pursued Mrs. Waverly, giving audible expression to her thoughts. "So soon? I did not expect this. Tomorrow! Shall I see them before the setting of another sun? Shall I hold them in my arms, and feel their breath upon my cheek? Shall I look into their beautiful eyes and hear the melody of their young voices? Surely I am dreaming,and will soon awake! Alice! Alice!"
The girl started from her own reverie, for Mrs. Waverly pronounced her name in a quick emphatic manner.
"Alice," said Mrs. Waverly. "Are you certain that you saw the children today?"
"O, yes. Haven't I just said that I was at their house."
"And saw Mr. Waverly?"
"Certainly."
"And are going to live in the family?"
"Yes."
"It came over me that it was all a dream," said Mrs. Waverly; her breath coming more freely. "One of the vain dreams by which I have been mocked so many hundred times. What would I not give to be in your place tomorrow! But my time will come, and, thank God! that right speedily. You are to be my good angel, Alice. From your hands I am to receive my children. How shall I ever recompense you! In this world, it never can be done. Your reward will be in the next."
Alice answered not. As Mrs. Waverly spoke, her eyes gradually sank again to the floor and remained fixed in the abstraction of thought that followed.
From some cause, Alice was changed. Her mind seemed to be ill at ease; and this fact became gradually apparent to Mrs. Waverly. As soon as it was clearly comprehended — as soon as she could forget herself sufficiently to observe the girl with attention — she said with manifest concern —
"What's the matter with you, Alice? Something seems to trouble you. Are you sick?"
"Oh, no," returned Alice, evidently trying, with an effort, to rouse herself. "I'm well enough."
"Why do you look so sober then? Are you not glad with me at the early approaching consummation of my wishes! I feel like clapping my hands and shouting aloud for joy."
And the excited mother, giving way to her feelings, laughed and cried, for a time, alternately. As a calmer state returned, she said to Alice, who still remained in the room.
"You are really going tomorrow?"
"Yes," was the simple response.
"Tomorrow — tomorrow! It is like a dream. Tomorrow morning of course."
"No, not until the afternoon."
"Why not in the morning?" said Mrs. Waverly with disappointment in her tone.
"The girl they have, leaves in the morning, as I understand it. I am to go in the afternoon."
"How early?" inquired Mrs. Waverly, manifesting a great interest in a matter that seemed of such minor importance.
"Not until towards evening," replied Alice.
"So late. Why can't you go early — so as to walk out with the children. You could take them down to the square."
Alice turned her face so far away, that it could not be seen by Mrs. Waverly, as she replied,
"I would hardly like to ask to take them out on the first day."
"Why not?" quickly asked the mother.
"It might create suspicion."
"Why should any suspicion lie against you, Alice?" was answered. "Mr. Waverly knows nothing of our purpose. He does not even know that I am in the city. Moreover, you did not solicit the place. On the contrary, you were solicited to take charge of the children."
Alice was silent.
"They will be placed in your care with the utmost confidence," continued Mrs. Waverly. "Why, then, can't you go early in the afternoon? You need not ask to take the children out, for that, I doubt not, will be proposed to you. Bring them down to the square — it is too far for them to walk out here — that I may look into their faces; that I may touch them; that I may feel the sweet breath of my little Ada once more upon my lips."
"You would only betray yourself," said Alice in reply to this. "The children would tell their father; and I need not remind you of what would follow."
"But, Alice," there was a hoarseness in the low whisper of the mother. "Why might we not escape with them at once?"
"We could not get away from the city, before the children's absence would be known," replied Alice, "thus making detection almost certain. We must not act too hurriedly."
There was something about the girl's manner that Mrs. Waverly could not understand. There was a change — what did it mean?
"You may be right in that," was the mother's reply. "Doubtless I am too impatient. But, can it be wondered that I am?"
"I do not wonder, at all," said Alice. "But, feeling must not carry us away, lest all our purposes fail. Do not think of seeing the children tomorrow. Let me be a day or two in the house and bring you a report of them. This will be best — this will be safest. After that we can arrange for the future. What is done deliberately is best done. You are eager, and who can be surprised that you are."
A deep sigh heaved the bosom of Mrs. Waverly; and with her eyes fixed dreamily on the floor she sat silent for a long time. She said no more to Alice then about seeing her children on the next day. The girl rose up, in a little while, and left the room. This act aroused Mrs. Waverly from the state of abstraction into which she had fallen. She raised her head, and turned her eyes upon the door through which Alice had passed; and sat in an attitude of attention for a few moments. Then she said, speaking to herself,
"What can this mean? Alice is not what she was this morning. Or, is this impression only something in my own imagination — the sickly creature of impatience? Perhaps she is right. I had better not attempt to see them tomorrow. It might, and possibly would, defeat everything."
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