Bad Hugh | Page 7

a-dead woman, was doubly so at hearing of a child.
"A child," she repeated, "whose child?"
Hugh, made no reply save an order that the lounge should be brought
near the fire and a pillow from his mother's bed. "From mine, then," he
added, as he saw the anxious look in his mother's face, and guessed that
she shrank from having her own snowy pillow come in contact with the
wet, limp figure he was depositing upon the lounge. It was a slight,
girlish form, and the long brown hair, loosened from its confinement,
fell in rich profusion over the pillow which 'Lina brought half

reluctantly, eying askance the insensible object before her, and daintily
holding back her dress lest it should come in contact with the child her
mother had deposited upon the floor, where it lay crying lustily.
The idea of a strange woman being thrust upon them in this way was
highly displeasing to Miss 'Lina, who haughtily drew back from the
little one when it stretched its arms out toward her, while its pretty lip
quivered and the tears dropped over its rounded cheek.
Meantime Hugh, with all a woman's tenderness, had done for the now
reviving stranger what he could, and as his mother began to collect her
scattered senses and evince some interest in the matter, he withdrew to
call the negroes, judging it prudent to remain away a while, as his
presence might be an intrusion. From the first he had felt sure that the
individual thrown upon his charity was not a low, vulgar person, as his
sister seemed to think. He had not yet seen her face distinctly, for it lay
in the shadow, but the long, flowing hair, the delicate hands, the pure
white neck, of which he had caught a glimpse as his mother unfastened
the stiffened dress, all these had made an impression, and involuntarily
repeating to himself, "Poor girl, poor girl," he strode a second time
across the drifts which lay in his back yard, and was soon pounding at
old Chloe's cabin door, bidding her and Hannah dress at once and come
immediately to the house.
An indignant growl at being thus aroused from her first sleep was
Chloe's only response, but Hugh knew that his orders were being
obeyed.
The change of atmosphere and restoratives applied had done their work,
and Mrs. Worthington saw that the long eyelashes began to tremble,
while a faint color stole into the hitherto colorless cheeks, and at last
the large, brown eyes unclosed and looked into hers with an expression
so mournful, so beseeching, that a thrill of yearning tenderness for the
desolate young creature shot through her heart, and bending down she
said, "Are you better now?"
"Yes, thank you. Where is Willie?" was the low response, the tone
thrilling Mrs. Worthington again with emotion.

Even 'Lina started, it was so musical, and coming near she answered:
"If it's the baby you mean, he is here, playing with Rover."
There was a look of gratitude in the brown eyes, which closed again
wearily. With her eyes thus closed, 'Lina had a fair opportunity to scan
the beautiful face, with its delicately-chiseled features, and the wealth
of lustrous brown hair, sweeping back from the open forehead, on
which there was perceptible a faint line, which 'Lina stooped down to
examine.
"Mother, mother," she whispered, drawing back, "look, is not that a
mark just like mine?"
Thus appealed to, Mrs. Worthington, too, bent down, but, upon a closer
scrutiny, the mark seemed only a small, blue vein.
"She's pretty," she said. "I wonder why I feel so drawn toward her?"
'Lina was about to reply, when again the brown eyes looked up, and the
stranger asked hesitatingly:
"Where am I? And is he here! Is this his house?"
"Whose house?" Mrs. Worthington asked.
The girl did not answer at once, and when she did her mind seemed
wandering.
"I waited so long," she said, "but he never came again, only the letter
which broke my heart. Willie was a baby then, and I almost hated him
for a while, but he wasn't to blame. I wasn't to blame. I'm glad God
gave me Willie now, even if he did take his father from me."
Mrs. Worthington and her daughter exchanged glances, and the latter
abruptly asked:
"Where is Willie's father?"
"I don't know," came in a wailing sob from the depths of the pillow.

"Where did you come from?" was the next question. The young girl
looked up in some alarm, and answered meekly:
"From New York. I thought I'd never get here, but everybody was so
kind to me and Willie, and the driver said if 'twan't so late, and he so
many passengers, he'd drive across the fields. He pointed out