CHAPTER 11.
Back to The Divorced Wife
Not for a single hour, did sleep lock in calm unconsciousness, the senses of Mrs. Waverly during the night that followed the visit of Alice. The girl had said that she would bring Ada to see her on the next day; and she knew that she would keep her word, unless something interfered to prevent her. The image of her child was too vivid in her imagination; and the thought of clasping her to her bosom, too distinct, to let her mind lapse away into unconsciousness. All through the night, she lay thinking about the reunion of the next day; and often was her mental realization of the coming scene so perfect, that she almost felt the dear one in her arms.
Morning found her excited and nervous. Slowly the day advanced towards noon. Never had the hours followed each other with so stealthy a pace. One, two, three, four o'clock at length came. Mrs. Waverly had been at the parlor window for hours; but up to this time, Alice and Ada had not appeared. Hope was about giving way to the faint heart's sickness of despondency, when her eye rested upon the forms whose coming she had so long and ardently desired. They flitted past the window; and, in the next moment, she heard the door open and their feet in the entry. She tried to rise and spring to meet them. But all her strength was gone. Her very heart ceased, for an instant, to beat.
When Alice came in, leading Ada by the hand, Mrs. Waverly sat, as rigid almost as a statue, and pale as ashes. She tried to move, but her muscles refused to act; she tried to speak, but found no utterance. This paralysis did not, however, long remain. A few moments passed, and then, catching Ada in her arms, she hugged her wildly to her bosom, murmuring in accents of the deepest tenderness,
"O, my child! my child! my blessed child!"
For a little while, Ada, almost smothered with kisses, looked half frightened. But, when Mrs. Waverly pushed her from her, and after gazing lovingly in her face, said —
"Do you know me, Ada, dear?"
A sweet smile illuminated her beautiful countenance, and she replied —
"You are my own mamma!"
Wildly was she again clasped to her mother's bosom, and long was she held there.
"Yes, yes, I am your own mamma!" exclaimed Mrs. Waverly, as she held the child again from her, that she might gaze on her face. "Do you love me, dear?"
"Yes mamma!"
And Ada, after lifting her mouth for a kiss, leaned towards her mother and laid her head against her bosom.
Meanwhile, Alice stood a little apart, observing with a serious face, what was passing. Once or twice she dashed aside a tear which dimmed her sight. She did not feel the pleasure she had once hoped to feel when thinking of a meeting like this, for she was not altogether satisfied as to the part she had taken in the matter. Had she not betrayed the confidence reposed in her by Mr. Waverly? This was the question which troubled her.
"Leave us alone for a little while, Alice," said Mrs. Waverly, lifting her eyes from the countenance of the child into which she was gazing.
Alice lingered a moment and then retired from the room, going up into the one she had occupied, and there busying herself for a short time in gathering together a few things she had left, and tying them into a small bundle. While thus engaged, Mrs. Grafton came in from the next chamber.
"Did you bring the little girl?" she inquired.
"Yes ma'am. She is in the parlor with her mother."
"I am so glad," returned Mrs. Grafton. "So glad! Poor thing! I was half afraid you would not come."
"I promised," said Alice, in a calm voice.
"I know you did. Don't understand me as doubting you. I was only afraid something would prevent your coming."
"And I almost wish it had," replied the girl, with a troubled expression of face.
"Why do you say this, Alice?" asked Mrs. Grafton. "Have you lost your sympathy for the mother?"
"No — no. It is not that. Heaven knows how my heart aches for her — knows how much I desire to aid her! But, I am oppressed and confused with thoughts of my duty to Mr. Waverly. I am much afraid that I have done wrong in bringing Ada here."
"Did she know her mother?"
"O, yes. She knew her in an instant, and almost sprang into her arms."
"I can't feel exactly as you do," said Mrs. Grafton. I'm too glad in my heart that the mother has found at least one of her children. O, the unspeakable wretchedness of her long separation!"
Alice made no reply. Her eyes were cast upon the floor, and she stood in a musing attitude. It was now ten minutes, perhaps, since she withdrew from the parlor. Suddenly, as if some new thought had glanced over her mind, she turned from the room without any remark, and went rapidly down the stairs. Entering the parlor, where she had left Mrs. Waverly and Ada a short time before, she found it empty.
"Mrs. Waverly!" she called, in a quick, anxious voice. But there was no answer.
"Mrs. Waverly!" she was now at the back window, which she had thrown open.
Turning, she flew into the next room; then from chamber to chamber over the whole house. Yet, without finding the objects of her search. Half frantic with alarm, she next rushed into the street, and ran down one block, up and around another, returning in a brief space of time, to the house. Mrs. Grafton stood awaiting her at the door.
"O, ma'am! Do you know where they are?" Alice asked eagerly. Her face was deadly pale, and her eyes stared wildly.
"Indeed, I do not," was replied. "Where did you leave them?"
"In the parlor."
"I heard no one go out."
"Nor I. But, as sure as we are living, Mrs. Waverly has vanished with Ada! O! why did I not think of this? Why did I trust her out of my sight for an instant?"
And Alice stood wringing her hands, the very picture of distress.
"What is the matter?" asked a lady who sat at a window opposite.
"Did you see anyone leave here with a child?" inquired Mrs. Grafton.
"I saw a woman without a bonnet go from your house a few minutes ago; and she had a child in her arms."
"Which way did she take?"
"Down that street," and the lady pointed with her finger.
Quick as a deer, the girl sprang away in the direction indicated. Nearly half an hour elapsed before she returned, pale and more agitated than before. Her search had been altogether fruitless. And so proved every other effort to discover where the fugitive had gone.
Night came down, at length, and Alice, hopeless of finding the child, turned her reluctant feet toward the dwelling of Mr. Waverly.
Back to The Divorced Wife