Part 19 (1/2)
”I don't believe I like her, after all,” Lillian thought; and yet there was a marvellous sweetness in the smile that greeted the child, and brought her with instant response to Mrs. Marvin's side.
As they were making their way to the door after taking leave of Mrs.
Marvin, Miss Sherwin saw a lady step out from a group of people, and exclaim: ”Why, Mrs. Richards! how do you do? It was only the other day I heard of your unexpected return.” And the person to whom this greeting was addressed was no other than Mrs. Marvin herself. It puzzled her, but she said nothing about it to Mrs. Morrison when they related their morning's adventures.
CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH.
THE MARCH NUMBER OF THE YOUNG PEOPLE'S JOURNAL.
Mrs. Marvin was in a sadly restless state of mind. She wished again and again that chance had not brought this child in her way. Having seen her, she could not forget her, and each meeting cost her fresh pain.
And what was to be the outcome of it? Nothing? Frances had said they would soon be going away. Perhaps then she might be able to settle down again into the old life of resolutely putting aside the past.
She was not so strong as she used to be, yet she must endure it as she had done for so many years. There was nothing she could do. Her pride told her this with added emphasis each time the half-formed question rose in her mind.
She actually fretted herself into a fever which the doctor p.r.o.nounced malarial, advising change of air,--a prescription Mrs. Marvin had no thought of trying at present.
After several days in bed, she was lying on her couch weak and languid one morning, when she suddenly remembered the March number of _The Young People's Journal_. She would send for it and read the story.
When it was brought there came with it the swift recollection that Jack used to take it. She could see him now poring over the puzzle column, looking up with such a triumphant light in his brown eyes when he discovered an answer.
She held the paper for a long time without opening it, lying quite still with a desolate look on her face that was more than Caroline, her faithful nurse, could stand.
”I declare, if Miss Frances doesn't cheer up, I don't know what I shall do,” she said to the seamstress.
After a while Mrs. Marvin began to turn the pages, till she found the story of ”The Missing Bridge,” with the gay little tune for a heading.
It is doubtful if under ordinary circ.u.mstances she would have had patience to read the simple story through, but to-day she found something soothing in its very simplicity.
”No power can destroy the bridge between true and loving hearts.” She lay thinking of what Frances had said about her quarrel with Gladys. Ah!
many another bridge had been made invisible by clouds of anger and pride. The paper slipped from her grasp. ”I _did_ love him so dearly,”
she cried, clasping her hands; ”and I thought he cared for me, but now he has probably forgotten.”
”Faith and courage can find the way--” so said the story.
”But I have neither,” sighed Mrs. Marvin.
Her unquiet mind seized upon the words of the little song, and all through the day she said them over and over:--
”The bridge is broke and I have to mend it.”
The clock ticked:--
”The bridge is broke and I have to mend it, mend it, mend it, mend it.”
Even the horses' hoofs on the asphalt street rang out the same refrain.