It was a long and troubled dream. Days and weeks appeared to pass away in which the little sleeper could remember nothing clearly. At one time the beautiful lady would appear to be bending fondly over her, and then the face would change suddenly to that of a wretched hag, whom she had known and called mother, in the miserable home she had within the slums of the city. From this place came terrible voices in her ears, and terrible things struggling round the bed. Flames of fire darted and danced in her poor, weary eyes; but through all this she beheld the fairy of thecavern appear again, holding in his hand the wreath whereon was written her name. He held it towards her gleaming with diamond tear-drops. How she struggled to reach it! The more she tried the weaker she became, but it seemed to her that there was an invisible arm round her for her to rest upon, and though faint and weary, her failing footsteps ever got nearer and nearer the precious circlet. Then followed an interval of soft, soothing quiet, and the eyes of our heroine opened drowsily upon the waking world again. She felt very weak, but somehow very happy. She was lying on a clean, white bed in a comfortable room, which appeared as if she had seen it before somewhere in her dreams. As the child raised her weary eyelids her gaze rested upon the prostrate form of the lady kneeling by her bedside, with her face hidden in the bedclothes, sobbing. The poor wanderer felt sorry that one who had been so kind to her should weep in trouble, and raising her little warm hand, she laid it on the beautiful head of the kneeler, and uttered the familiar word, “Mamma.”
The little sufferer knew not why that tender word rose to her lips before any other; she only knew that the affectionate term was in her heart and mind—that was all.
At the sound the grand lady raised her head, and kissed the child again and again with maternal fondness, her lips murmuring the while, “My own darling child. My Nellie, whom I thought had departed from me for ever. Heaven has been good to me.”
Then for the first time the little match vendor shed tears of joy. Sleep came to her again, from which she was aroused by the sound of voices talking in whispers close to the bed.
“I am so sorry to have disobeyed you, ma’am, but you must forgive me, and let me stay and nurse my own little pet,” cried a girl’s voice in pleading accents. “When they told me at home that the stolen child had come home again to you, I couldn’t keep away. I know it’s all along of my carelessness that she was took away. Yet I loved the deary and was compelled to come, although you must hate the very sight of me.”
“Hush, nurse, hush!” replied the lady’s voice sadly. “I am so glad you have come. Since I lost my Nellie, and Frank died, and my dear husband perished at sea, I have been a friendless, lonely, and unhappy woman. Now my lost darling has been restored to me again the world will not seem so bleak and weary. You shall stay and help me nurse my stolen baby into health again.”
It seemed very strange to the child, as she lay back in the bed, to learn the early history of her own life; how she had been stolen away when she was only a wee toddler; how her brother, just one year older than herself, had pined and died for his sister; how the poor mother, with all her grand and fashionable friends, had felt herself deserted, and had hardened her heart against all good influences, until the cry of the frightened little outcast had reached and softened it.
There were long, weary watchings by the couch of the sufferer, filled with anxiety and suspense. For the mother who had found her lost one had a vague dread haunting her that her darling might be snatched ruthlessly from her a second time, and by a foe more terrible than a kidnapper. The child’s sleep was filled with dreams of angels. They carried her again and again to that rocky chamber where hung the garlands; and each time she found her own all ablaze with tears of joy, and nearly finished.
On one occasion she stretched forth her hand to take it, but the fairy came up to her and said,—
“Not yet, my dear; you shall wear it very soon.”
The child related these dreams to her mother, who answered nothing, but fell down upon her knees and prayed that the garland should not be completed yet awhile.
Nellie could not understand all this, but one night she felt very weak and cold. Her mother was seated by the bedside gazing with greedy eyes at the poor, worn, pinched-up little face. There were others in the room, but the patient now saw only her mother.
“Dear mamma!”
“What is it, my darling?”
“I have seen the garlands again. Mine is finished at last.”
The face of the lady grew very pale. She hid her weeping eyes and muttered,—
“A little while longer, only a little while.”
“I know what the garland means now, mamma; I am going to die,”
“Oh no! my dear, long lost pet, not yet, not yet. I cannot spare you, now you have come back to me. Stay with me a little while—just a little while. You are so very dear to me.”
Who shall say what agony of supplication in that low wail of entreaty? Who shall fathom its intensity?
“But you will come too, mamma?” said the weak voice, now grown very weak and feeble. “You have cried so much, your garland must be nearly ready.”
A great sob, which shook the tall, shapely figure like a reed, was the only answer. She raised her head at length, and the eyes of mother and child met.
“Oh, when I get there, I’ll prepare your garland, mamma,” came the faint voice, almost in a whisper now.
For a moment there was a wild light in the poor mother’s eyes. The words appeared to stir some old memory in her heart. She looked into the peaceful face of her dying child, and the voice became more calm and steady.
“It is very hard to part, my darling, very hard; but I will try to bear it all, so that tears of joy may mingle with tears of sorrow in my wreath of immortality.”
The words fell on an ear that heard them not. There was a look on the child’s face that caused the mother to rush forward and throw her arms about the poor weak clay, as if to stay the departing spirit in its flight.
“Oh, mamma! there is little brother Frank with my garland. See! he is beckoning to me.”
And then the weary little head fell forward on the mother’s shoulder, and the tired spirit entered into rest.