Heaving bosoms, concealing madly beating hearts, were hidden under the heavy fur-lined wrappings. In the excitement and bustle of the jostling throng our waiting friends greatly feared missing the travelers in the murky light, but just as the train was again pulling out, Imelda espied a lady and two gentlemen who seemed hopelessly seeking someone judging from their hurried glances. Quickly walking up, that she might the better look at their closely muffled figures, she was recognized by the lady traveler, and,
“Imelda!” broke from her lips as she stepped forward and folded the girlish form in her arms, kissing her again and again.
“Dearest Mamma Leland!”—and the kisses were returned with interest. When released it was to be again enfolded in a pair of stronger arms—this time a perfect bear’s hug. Then followed hasty introductions. Several more embraces, wordless, but nevertheless speaking volumes, and then Norman spoke:
“Save the caresses for an hour later; they will keep, I am sure. This weather is not at all inviting, so pile into the waiting sleighs; that we may go where a welcome is prepared for you.”
“One moment,”—It was Wilbur’s strong pleasant voice. “I make bold to bring you a fellow traveler who has been of great value to us. Mr. Paul Arthurs, I think deserves a better fate than to be left to the tender mercies of a cheerless hotel on a night like this.” These words were followed by a hearty invitation and welcome. At first Mr. Arthurs protested against intruding so summarily on perfect strangers, but was shortly overruled, and a few minutes later the sleighs were flying over the smooth surface of the already beaten track, and in a very short time the piercing night air was exchanged for that of the warm rooms at the Westcot mansion. Willing, friendly hands were assisting each of the travelers to warmth and comfort. Mrs. Leland was supplied a soft warm robe, a loose wrapper from Imelda’s wardrobe. As there was no possibility of procuring their trunks before morning, dry hose and fur-lined slippers were provided for the weary nether limbs. After a refreshing bath Imelda’s deft fingers neatly and tastefully arranged the tired woman’s hair. Then telling her that she looked ever so much better than a half hour previous, she escorted her to the parlor to find that the men had just preceded them. Both the gentlemen guests had been supplied from Mr. Westcot’s wardrobe, and they looked fresh and bright enough to give the impression that they were there for an ordinary social call. Wilbur’s eyes lit up with a bright gleam as Imelda entered. Without a moment’s hesitation he held out both hands and drawing her close, held her face where the full light of the chandelier overhead fell upon it—for a minute drinking in the full glow of her beauty, watching the rich color come and go in the fair cheeks. Then taking the sweet proud face in both his hands he kissed the ruddy lips, once, twice, thrice.
“Now,” he said, “I want to look at someone in the——daylight I almost said; ’tis the gaslight, I mean, which is almost as bright.”
Norman was standing near, leaning with his elbow on the piano, watching the scene before him with a warm light in his eyes. Understanding well who Wilbur’s “someone” was, he stepped forward and extended his hand with a pleasant, happy smile lighting up the handsome manly countenance. For a few moments the black and blue eyes met, each reading in the depths of the other’s soul; each satisfied with what he saw and read there. It was a moment, “When kindred spirits met,” when “soul touched soul.” As they stood there, man to man, hand clasped in hand, each knew and felt that he had found a friend worthy of the name, and when a woman’s soft hand was laid on theirs, as if in blessing, it was Norman’s lips that touched the woman’s hand, but Wilbur’s dark face was laid close to hers, and as their lips met the whispered words fell upon her ear:
“Imelda, gem of women, in this precious brother you have found a jewel worthy of the finest setting. You have been a sweet and successful teacher.”
With the pure love-light in two pairs of eyes reflected in her heart she turned to leave them together. Little gushing Alice was just getting through making Mrs. Leland welcome when the eyes of the latter fell upon a sweet face, lit up by a pair of dreamy hazel eyes. Something in the face struck her as familiar, but she was unable to place it. The girl saw and understood and was in the act of moving forward when Imelda caught the look on Mrs. Leland’s face. In a moment more she stood at Cora’s side, laying her face to hers she said:
“I do,” Mrs. Leland replied. “It is your sister.” Here again after a few moment’s conversation Imelda had the satisfaction of knowing that two hearts, both dear to her, would meet and love.
In glancing about she espied Edith deep in conversation with the stranger, the traveling companion of Mrs. Leland and Wilbur. He was holding her hand in a close clasp and looking into the dark eyes in a way wholly surprising in a stranger on such short acquaintance. The color was coming and going in the sweet face and her eyes had in them most plainly an answering warmth. He certainly was a very handsome man; one that any woman would be apt to turn and look at again when meeting him in a ballroom or on the street. Fair, with a light curling beard and a free open countenance; tall and well proportioned he was a picture of manly beauty. Edith looking up and, seeing her friend’s perplexed and wondering gaze, smiled and beckoned,
“You are surprised, I see, at our seeming unwarranted familiarity, but do you remember the day when Cora made her first appearance downstairs after the accident, and we were weaving such golden plans for our future? Well you also remember that Hilda spoke of a gentleman we had met in one of our summer vacations in the mountains? I see you do remember. I had thought the friendship of Mr. Arthurs was to be only a pleasant memory when lo and behold I recognize him in this traveling companion of our loved ones, and to make the surprise more complete, Harrisburg was his destination, as he was coming here on matters of business and intended remaining in the city for sometime.”
Imelda expressed her delight in finding in him a friend of her friends, and was about to move on when Mr. Arthurs asked for Hilda. That maiden was discovered serenely smiling and rosily blushing while listening to some, from all appearance, highly interesting tale of Lawrence Westcot’s. Edith forthwith drew her new-found friend in the direction of the two.
With a happy smile upon her face, reflecting the sunshine of her heart in her eyes, Imelda was flying from group to group when they suddenly rested upon the sad face of a boy whose form was half hidden in the heavy curtain of a deep bay window to which he had withdrawn himself. In a moment she saw it all. The boy had requested not to be introduced to his mother at the depot. He would wait a more favorable opportunity.
“It would only excite her,” he said, “and be very unsatisfactory.”
His request had been granted, but in the excitement that followed he had momentarily been forgotten. Not dreaming that her son might be among this group of bright intelligent people Mrs. Leland was giving her every thought to winsome Cora whose heart was being drawn out to meet hers in glad response.
Imelda crossed the room to where Osmond stood. His eyes filled with tears as she approached,
“Why so sad, my boy? Cheer up! Do you think you are now ready to look into your mother’s eyes?”
“My mother! how strange the words sound; but I am afraid!”
“‘Afraid!’ Afraid of what?”
“Of the disappointment that may possibly fill them when they rest on me. It would hurt if there should be but a momentary reflection therein.”
Imelda’s gentle hand lifted the chin of the boy that was drooping in a dejected manner,
“Those words that speak of the fear of a disappointment show that you have not known a mother’s heart. Come now and have this fear cast out,”—and taking the trembling boy by the hand she drew him from his hiding place and approached with him the woman to whom he owed his being. Laying one arm about his neck Imelda drew his face to hers, with her other hand she touched Mrs. Leland’s arm to draw her attention.
“See! Mamma Leland. Who is this I bring you?”
It was a moment of intense expectation. Mrs. Leland quickly turned, and for a moment stared—then gave a quick gasp. That face! Just for a moment she had thought it was Margaret, so great was the resemblance, but only a moment. His look was strange and yet not strange. From his face she glanced to that of Imelda, and back again to the boy. She rose from her chair pressing both hands to her madly beating heart. Her face became deathly white. Slowly the boy’s hands were extended towards her—an agonized pleading look lay in the large blue eyes.
“Mother!” broke from the pallid lips.
“Osmond!” echoed the mother, and then she folded her long lost child, her darling boy! in close embrace near to her wildly beating heart.
For a moment Mrs. Leland felt faint and dizzy, then her pent-up feeling found vent in a flood of tears, with which were mingled those of Osmond. The tension on his nerves had been too great, but both strove hard to conquer their emotions, and for some time they sat in a wordless embrace, reading what they felt in each others eyes. Tenderly her trembling hand smoothed the sunny locks and the pearly drops again gathered in her eyes as she thought how her baby had been permitted to grow and develop, until he stood upon the brink of manhood without the guidance of her hand. His boyhood’s years—they had come and gone without bringing her mother’s heart the privilege of watching over the tender soul’s moulding. O, to have been with him! to share his joys and to soften and smooth his childish troubles.
But now? Why dwell upon the past with its many bitternesses and trials? Did not the present moment outweigh all the sufferings? all the dark hours of woe? Her boy was still her own, with a soul pure and true. Should she not rather be thankful? With an overflowing heart she drew the boy’s face down to hers, giving vent to all the pent-up feelings that were causing her heart to heave and her lips to seek a loving, clinging mother’s kiss. Imelda’s eyes filled with tears; without another word she gently touched Cora’s arm and together they withdrew, leaving the two to enjoy their new-found happiness.
Imelda drew her sister in the direction of the piano, where Norman and Wilbur were still standing, welding the friendship that was to last throughout all the years of their after-life. With a little dextrous movement the girls managed to reach the instrument without attracting the notice of the men and only when Cora’s rich, sweet voice filled the room with joyous song did they become aware of their close proximity.
Every voice was hushed, every word suspended while she sang. Who was this girl, possessed of such a glorious voice? When the music ceased and the song ended Cora turned and faced her audience. Wilbur was struck with the rare beauty of the face, coupled with a strange sense of familiarity. Imelda smiled, as she caught the puzzled look upon his face,
“It is Cora, Wilbur.” That was their introduction—just as a matter of course—feeling they would need no other. But Wilbur was not satisfied, and begged that Cora would sing again; and she, nothing loath, did sing again. It was the first time this week she had sung—with the anxiety for the possible fate of the absent ones she had had no heart to sing. But tonight she felt happy; so why should she not? Turning over the pile of music her eye fell upon “The Wandering Refugee.” The music was sweet, if the words were sad; and as the sad, sweet strains filled the room their influence was felt by everyone present, toning down the exciting joy that filled every heart. Just as the last notes died away a rasping noise was heard at the window. Glancing up they became aware of a white face being pressed against the large pane. Only a momentary appearance, and almost in an instant it was gone. But in that instant both girls had seen it and—had they recognized it? Both pairs of lips breathed the prayer—“I hope not!”
Such a wretched looking, such a deathly white face! Imelda quickly moved over to the window, but no sign was to be seen of a human being. Had they been mistaken? Was it only a chimera of the brain, conjured up by the sad, weird words of the song? Heaving a deep sigh she turned away, shaking her head to the enquiring sister. No one else had seen the face at the window.
At this juncture Alice claimed her right as hostess, and insisted that all should direct their steps to the dining room, there to partake of a warm repast which had been prepared for the hungry travelers. Around the table another hour passed by in pleasant conversation in which many a treasure of mind was unfolded, and where bright eyes sent electric sparks back and forth—sparks that were ever ready to kindle love’s fire wherever they might happen to alight, until at length, breaking in upon the running conversation Westcot said,
“Will not someone be kind enough to relate the experiences and dangers of the late journey?”
Wilbur laughed.
“I suspect they are greatly magnified—in your imagination greater far than in reality. Snow-bound we were; that is true enough; not a pleasant experience, I grant you. By the storm-king we were forced to remain in one spot, consumed more or less with anxiety and by impatience to move onward. The change to bitter cold caused us some suffering, but being well supplied with wraps and blankets its keenest edge was blunted. Perhaps the greatest danger that menaced us was the lack of provisions, but that also was warded off.
It was night when our train was brought to a standstill, and when the morning dawned we saw only a vast unbroken field of snow, spread out before our eyes. The outlook was far from cheerful. Not having thought of such an emergency we had supplied ourselves with no provisions whatever, and the probability was that we would become acquainted with empty stomachs before reaching our journey’s end.
“Just opposite us across the aisle our friend here, Mr. Arthurs, had taken his seat and, as misery loves company, it was not long ere he made our acquaintance. Pardon me, Arthurs,” laughed Wilbur, “I did not mean that you were so very miserable but that we were all so miserably situated that your kind heart prompted you to lighten our misery by coming closer to us. Well, as the day wore on we all became uncomfortably conscious that there were appetites waiting to be appeased. The supply carried by the train was not a large one and the steward was asking shameful prices. Mr. Arthurs made the proposition that we make an attempt at exploration, to see if there were no human habitations near. At first Mrs. Leland would not listen to such a thing, fearing we might get lost, but her fears were overruled and we made preparation for a tramp through the deep and softly yielding snow.
Following the base of a hill, near which our train had stopped, we walked about a mile when in the distance we discovered quite a village. It seemed an endless tramp but at length we managed to get there and make our needs known. The villagers proved to be a rough but kindly disposed people and, combining business and humanitarianism, some hours later they brought to the cold and hungry travelers a supply of hot coffee and sandwiches at reasonable prices. This removed the deadly fear of starvation, and although the temperature was very, very cold our situation was endurable. Towards evening of the second day rescue trains arrived. The snow had been cleared from the tracks by the persistent labor of many men who had worked night and day with their shovels, and soon we were once more speeding on our way rejoicing.
“By this time our new friend had proved himself a friend indeed, and having made the discovery that his destination was the same as ours we invited him to make one of our party. And to judge from present appearances he is not at all sorry for having accepted the invitation.”
Every eye turned in the direction of Mr. Arthurs, at whose side Edith had found a seat. So deeply was he interested, just then, in something Edith was saying that neither had heard the closing remarks of Wilbur, but at the sudden hush both looked up to find all eyes resting upon them in smiles. A flush mantled their faces, but, joining in the laugh at their expense the matter was quickly disposed of, and now, having satisfied their hunger Norman said he thought it time they were seeking their respective homes, the night being far advanced, and rest being much needed. Both Wilbur and Mr. Arthurs spoke of going to a hotel, which proposition was most strenuously objected to by the Westcots who insisted that they make their home with them during their stay in the city.
But to this neither of the young men would listen; for this one night, however, they did not refuse to accept the kindly proffered hospitality. Tomorrow they would make other arrangements. Hasty preparations were then made for the departure of the others, and Mrs. Leland’s heart contracted painfully at the thought of letting her boy go from her, even for one night. But chiding her selfishness she gave him a good night kiss. As Norman opened the door, the outer vestibule door and was passing down the stone steps he suddenly stopped. Across the lower step a dark object was lying which proved to be the cold and stiffened form of a man.