Part 57 (1/2)
MIRIAM'S STORY.
A miserable attic chamber, dimly lighted by one dirty sky-light, a miserable bed in one corner, a broken chair, an old wooden chest, a rickety table, a few articles of delf, a tumble-down little cook-stove.
That was the picture Mollie Dane saw, standing on the threshold of Miriam's room.
There was no deception this time. On that wretched bed lay the broken and bruised figure of the woman Miriam, dying.
Her deep, labored breathing was painfully audible, even outside the room; her strong chest rose and fell--every breath torture.
By her side sat the mother of the ragged boy, holding a drink to her lips, and coaxing her to open her mouth and try to swallow.
In vivid contrast to all this poverty and abject wretchedness, the young girl in the door-way stood, with her fair, blooming face, her fluttering golden ringlets, her rich silken garments, and elegant air.
The woman by the bed turned round and stared for a moment; then--
”Be you the young lady as Mrs. Miriam sent my Sammy for?” she asked.
”Yes,” said Mollie, coming forward. ”How is she?”
”Bad as bad can be, miss. Won't never see another day, the doctor says.”
”My poor Miriam--my poor Miriam!”
The slow tears gathered in her eyes as she bent above her and saw the pinched, sharpened face, with the blue tinge of coming death already dawning there.
”Be you a relation?” the woman asked, curiously. But Mollie did not answer--she was stooping over the sick woman, absorbed.
”Miriam!” she said, softly, taking the skinny hand in both her own--”Miriam, look up! Speak to me. It is I--your own Mollie.”
The sound of that beloved voice penetrated the death fog already blurring every faculty. The dulled eyes opened with a sudden, joyful light of recognition.
”Mollie,” she said, ”my dear little Mollie. I knew you would come.”
”I am very, very sorry to see you like this, Miriam. Do you suffer much pain?”
”Not now--only a dull aching from head to foot. But even that will soon be over. I am glad. My life has been nothing for the past sixteen years but one long torment. I am glad it is so nearly done. Mollie,” fixing her haggard eyes solemnly on her face, ”you know I will never see another sunrise.”
”My poor, poor Miriam!”
”Are you sorry for poor Miriam, Mollie?”
”Sorrier than sorry! What other relative have I in the wide world but you?”
”Not one, Mollie. But I am a relative you need hardly grieve for. I have been a bad, cruel woman--the worst woman that ever lived to you, my poor little girl!”
”Miriam!”
”Ah! don't look at me with those innocent, wondering blue eyes! You shall know all. I can't die with my story untold, my secret unrevealed.
Mrs. Slimmens, I have something very particular to say to this young lady. Please to leave us alone.”