“Come with me,” said Edith, and she led the way to a room at the other end of the hall.
“Here we will be undisturbed, and you can tell me all you wish to impart. But I wish you to understand that I expect you to say nothing that may cause you pain to recall. The fact that this girl is your sister makes her much less a stranger to me than she would otherwise have been. Come, sit here in this chair, here where you will be shaded from the rays of the setting sun. Now, if you are comfortable you may proceed.”
What a cozy, homelike room it was. A bright glowing red was the predominating color, softened by the lace curtains and snowy draped bed. Here and there was a dash of gold. The warm hues seemed just suited to the glowing beauty of the girl who sank into a seat opposite the chair wherein she had placed Imelda, and here, in the cool half-dark room, was told the sad story of how this wayward sister had left the home of her childhood to go with her lover.
Of her own suspicion, however, that Cora had never been a wife Imelda could not bring herself to speak. How could she know how these sisters would judge? She only told that from the hour that Cora had left her home until now they had never seen her; never heard from her, “and now I am afraid,” added Imelda, “she will be a burden upon your hands, an imposition upon your kindness for an indefinite length of time.”
“Hush! Not so, my friend,” interrupted Edith. “I may call you friend, may I not? Would I not have done as much for an utter stranger. Why then not do it for one whom my brother holds most dear, meaning yourself, of course; and I can not help accepting your sister in the same light. But,” she added smiling, “do you not think we have treated your friend Mrs. Westcot, rather badly considering it is over an hour since we left her alone to pass the time away as best she could,—and now the shades of night are beginning to fall.”
Imelda uttered a little frightened cry. “O, I had forgotten! Poor Alice. I must go to her at once. But first, if you will permit, I must see Cora is still resting.” So, stopping for a moment to inquire of Hilda as to the condition of the patient, and being assured that she was still asleep and perfectly quiet, the two found their way down the wide stairway to where the little woman had been left to entertain herself. Here they found that that tired little morsel of humanity had fallen fast asleep in the depths of the large arm chair wherein she had settled herself, while the little girls seeing “Mamma” asleep and having been taught at such a time to be very quiet had climbed into a chair, which Meta had pushed up to a window, and were watching the stream of travel and traffic on the street.
As the door opened little Meta turned her head and seeing Imelda uttered a glad cry. It had been a tiresome task to entertain the baby mind of Norma, and the little heart beat joyfully at the prospect that the charge was over. The cry woke Alice who started up a little confused, but immediately she remembered where she was. Edith apologized for her seeming neglect, but added:
“I am sure you will excuse me when you fully understand. I will go now and see to arranging our simple evening meal, for of course you will take tea with us. In the meantime your friend will make the necessary explanation.” With these words, having first lit several gas jets, and ere Alice could formulate a protest she withdrew and left the two friends alone.
But Imelda spoke not a word. Exhausted and broken-hearted she sank into the nearest chair and bowing her head upon her hands her overcharged feelings gave way. Breaking into an uncontrollable fit of weeping, sobs shook the slender figure while tears trickled fast through her fingers.
Alice was speechless. Surprise at this seemingly uncalled for outburst of feeling, seemed for the moment to rob her of the power of utterance. The little ones stood with eyes wide open, wondering why “Aunty Meldy should try!” as little Norma expressed it. By and by Alice collected her wits sufficiently to take the hands of the weeping girl and drawing them from her face asked her what it all meant. When Imelda had somewhat conquered her emotions she said:
“Alice, you have been a true friend to me always. You have made me your confidant in many things. You know much of my earlier life, but not all. You knew I had a sister and brother; you think they are dead, as I simply told you that I had lost them, but the inference is not true. Both have stepped out of my life and have been as dead to me, for several years. I have sometimes almost wished they were indeed dead. Wild and wayward they had cast aside the restraining influence of home and had gone—we knew not whither. Never a sign of life did they give, and my mother went to her grave calling vainly for her absent ones.
“Within the last few weeks, however, the knowledge has come to me that both are alive. Several weeks ago I encountered Frank in the grounds of Maplelawn. Laboring under the misapprehension of believing me to be mistress of the handsome mansion he asked me for money. Finding I occupied only a servant’s position he had no further use for me, and disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared. I know not what has again become of him; and”—with a choking feeling in her throat—“upstairs with a broken arm and a bleeding head lies my sister Cora! Do you now understand?”
Imelda turned and going to the window gazed blankly into the darkening night. She had spoken hastily and in broken accents, as if ridding herself of a very disagreeable duty. It was not pleasant to speak of these family affairs. For her they meant shame and disgrace, even though her whole being recoiled from word or act impure. Her burning brow was pressed against the cool glass and her hand upon her aching heart. Many indeed had been the trials she had been called upon to bear. Had it not been that such rare and true friends had been hers to smooth her rough pathway, and had it not been for the love of a true man’s noble heart, she would often have found life not worth the living. As she stood there waiting she knew not for what, a hand stole softly into hers and a gentle voice said:
“Imelda! I am sorry, so sorry for you, but—I wish I had a sister! I have no one in all this wide world that has a claim upon me except my children. There was a time when Lawrence was my heaven, but now—you know and understand—that time belongs to the past. You have a sister. Let us hope that the finding of her will prove a blessing to you. The same blood flows in your veins. It were strange indeed if some of the same noble emotions did not also move her heart.” Imelda was moved. She had never heard Alice speak with so much depth of feeling. She had not thought her friend possessed so much real character.
“Thank you,” she said. “I hope so, indeed; but do you understand? I will now be compelled to remain here for some time to come. The doctor says it will not be advisable to have her removed; so I am in a manner bound to remain, which means that you will for a time have to do without me.”
By the sudden pallor of Alice’s cheek it was very plain that she had not thought of that, but bravely she put down all feelings of self.
“Very well, we will get along without you until such time as your sister can with safety be removed; then we will have her brought to Maplelawn where you can nurse her until she shall have perfectly recovered.” Imelda started.
“Oh, no! That would be kindness too great to accept. It would be too much; besides how would Mr. Westcot accept the situation? It would be an imposition; there is no gainsaying that. No! no! Alice. I cannot accept your kind offer. As soon as it is safe she will have to be removed to a hospital where I shall make arrangements, if at all possible, to have the care of her. If that cannot be done, why then—I shall have to do the best I can for her.”
“Nonsense, Imelda, do not speak like that. Lawrence has never yet refused me an expressed wish and I certainly do wish to have you near me as much as possible. But there will be time enough to discuss these matters later, for the present it is undoubtedly understood that you remain here. The rest we will trust to future developments. Just now,” she said, in order to change the subject, “I wish you to help me lay this sleeping child upon the tete-a-tete, as she is becoming quite heavy;” and while Imelda was arranging an easy position Edith returned.
Alice was more anxious to return home now, as she would have to do so without her trusted and faithful companion, but Edith insisted on refreshments first, and while they were being partaken of she sent out a servant to have Alice’s carriage brought up to the house. But the carriage was already waiting for them, and had been for some time. Osmond Leland had been possessed of forethought enough to attend to that matter. Edith explained to her guests that when she and her sister were alone they dispensed with the culinary art to a great extent, as they were both fond of fruits, and in the summer it was no difficult thing to have a variety of fruits on hand.
“Maybe I am a little indolent,” she explained smiling, “but I do not like to roast my brains above a great fire, and by the same token I do not like to see someone else do it either; so this is the result.”
There was no occasion, however, for Edith to make excuses. The ladies found the simple meal very refreshing. After it was over Imelda told Alice what few articles she deemed it necessary that she should send her; for as a matter of course she would remain for the present, and take upon herself the chief care of the wayward but now suffering sister. With the two sleepy little girls Alice was then snugly tucked away in the carriage and the driver being cautioned to be very careful, replied there was positively no cause to fear. It was not likely that a similar accident would again occur; had it not been for the throwing of that unlucky stone the trustworthy beasts would never have played such pranks. With a wave of the hand Imelda saw the carriage disappear, and with a heavy heart she again ascended the stairs to relieve the patient Hilda, and to take upon herself this new duty of nursing back to life wayward, erring Cora. To life? and what else? The sequel will show.