Lessons in Life, for All Who Will Read Them Part 9

Quickly turning to the direction, she read it over two or three times before satisfying herself that there was no mistake. Then she examined the writing within and without closely, in order to ascertain, if possible, from whom the timely aid had come, but without arriving at any certain conclusion.

This incident caused a new train of thoughts to pa.s.s through the mind 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 had thrown her off with such cruel anger. Acute pain of mind succeeded to this. She saw more clearly her own position in that act, and felt deeply the wrong she had committed.

"I will write to my son at once and ask his forgiveness, and that of his wife, whom I have wronged," she said, with a suddenly formed resolution. 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 violence until, in consequence of prolonged mental excitement, a slow nervous fever took hold of Mrs. Linden's physical system, and in a short time reduced her to a very critical state. Intelligence of this was conveyed to her son William, but, for some cause or other, neither himself nor wife visited her. At the end of a week she was so low as to be considered in great danger; she, no longer recognised the person of her attendant, or appeared to be conscious of what was pa.s.sing around her.

A letter from a friend, through whom he was kept informed of all that occurred to her, apprized Charles Linden of his mother's critical situation.

"Florence," said he to his sister, in reading the letter to her and his wife, "I think you and I should go to P--immediately. You can be mother's nurse until she recovers, and then it may not be hard to reconcile all that is past."

Ellen looked earnestly in the face of her husband; something was on her 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 the duty 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 her sick-chamber.

She is too ill to notice any one; she will not, therefore, perceive that a stranger is ministering to her. As she begins to recover, and I have an inward a.s.surance that she will, I will bestow upon her the most a.s.siduous attentions. I will inspire her heart with grateful affection for one whom she knows not; and when 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 be my task to watch in her sick-chamber."

Neither Charles nor his sister said one word in opposition. On the next day, they all started for P--. Charles Linden went with his excellent wife to the house where his mother was residing with an old friend, and opened to this friend their wishes. She readily entered into their plans, and Ellen was at once const.i.tuted 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, and with scarcely more consciousness of external things. During this time, Ellen attended her with some of the feeling with which a mother watches over her babe. Gradually the life-current in the veins of the sick woman became fuller and stronger. Gradually her mind acquired the power of acting through the external senses. Ellen perceived this. Now had come the ardently hoped-for time. With a noiseless step, with a voice low and tender, with hands that did their office almost caressingly, she antic.i.p.ated and met every want of the invalid.

As light began again to dawn upon the mind of Mrs. Linden, she could not but notice the sweet-faced, gentle, a.s.siduous stranger who had become her nurse. Her first feeling was one of grat.i.tude, blended with affection. Never before had any one been so devoted to her; never before had any one appeared to regard her with such a real wish 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 the floor. She hesitated for several moments; then she replied in a low voice--"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 gained much in a short time.

"She is a stranger to me. I never saw her before she came and said that she had heard that there was a sick lady here who wished a nurse."

"She did?"

"Yes."

"She must be an angel in disguise, then."

"So I should think," returned her friend. "I have never met a lovelier person. Her face is sweetness itself; her manners are full of 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 if she were my own child."

"But she is only a nurse," said her friend. "Do not forget that, nor your station in society."

Mrs. Linden shook her head and murmured--"I have never found one like her in the highest places; no, not even in my own children. Station in society! Ah! my friend, that delusion has pa.s.sed."

As Mrs. Linden recovered more and more, Ellen remained with her, waiting only for a good opportunity to make herself known. She did not wish to do this until she was sure that she had awakened a feeling of affection in her mother's bosom.

Mrs. Linden had been sitting up for two or three days, so far had she recovered, and yet Ellen did not feel that it was safe to venture a full declaration of the truth.

Up to this time, neither William nor his wife had visited her, nor sent to inquire about her. This fact Mrs. Linden knew, for she had asked about it particularly. The name of Charles was never mentioned.

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 me any longer. I will leave you to-morrow."

"Leave me!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs. Linden. "Oh, no, Ellen, you must not leave 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. You shall be--not my nurse, but my child."

Mrs. Linden's voice trembled.

Ellen could hardly help throwing herself at her feet, and declaring that she was really her child; but she controlled herself, and replied--"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 suddenly pale, 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 are you?"

"Your daughter," was faintly replied.

"Who?"

"The wife of one who has never ceased to love you; the wife of Charles Linden."