CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE NURSE'S STORY.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 150, 17 April 1886, Page 6

CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE NURSE'S STORY.

It was a very pleasant trip upon which our friends started the noxt morning. Upon arriving in the metropolis, Mr HalBtead excused himself pleading some business to which he wished to give his attention, thus leaving Audrey and Rich to go by themselves to see their lawyer, though he promised, upon Audrey's invitation, to meet them in their own home at tea time. When our friends reached Mr Hosmer's office, he asked to see Misis Waldemar alone, and led her at once into his private office. "There is a wuman at the Bellevue hospital who is very anxious to see you ;" ho told her, "she is dangerously ill with rheumatic fever, and it is thought that she cannot live long. She sent to your rooms, threodaya ago s an urgent request to see you. The landlady directed tho messenger to come to me to ascertain whether it was best to send for you. I myself went to the hospital to see the woman, to find out how urgent the case really was, as I felt that it was almost too bad to recal you just at this time. " The woman insisted that she 7nw>t see you - said that she had an important secret to reveal to you, and gave her name as Margaret Fox," "Oh!" exclaimed Audrey, greatly excited. 11 Shall we know at lasc ?" " You know her, then," said Mr Hosmer, exhibiting some surprise, "and I have done light in sending for you ?" "Ye?, yes ! it would have been dreadful if she had" died without telling me what I am sure she wisho3 to reveal." " I tried to make her tell mo what was on her mind, and I would communicate it to you. I stated that your nephew waa about to be married, and I did not like to send for \ou to como such a distance, eince you would be obliged to return again immediately. But this only agitated her tho more, and shosaid she must see you at once — before thi> marriage took place Then I was sure that it was a matter of importance- perhaps something connected with your protege' .-parentage." " You have done quite right, Mr Hosmor. and I am glad I did not delay a moment in coming. I will go to her at once." She hastened to tho outer oflice, told Rich where she was going, but could not tell u«t when she should return. Rich procured a carriage for her, saw her j-afely off, and spent tho greater portion of the day in inspecting the cottage in the suburbs which heintendedfor hishome-nest It was late in the afternoon when he returned to the city and to the rooms in street, where he found Miss Waldemar and a tempting lea awaiting him. After the meal was over and they had repaired to the parlour, Audrey said : "Rich, I have not told you anything abou t j my visit to that woman to day, because E wished to tell Mr Halstead at the same time, and thus save a repetition of the same story. Do you remember your old nurse ?" Rich looked surprised at this question. Was the mystery of hia early life about to be explained ? "I have a faint recollection of a coarse, dark-looking woman who was not always very kind to me," he answered. " Well, dear, it was she who sent for me, and whom I visited to-day," continued Mis 3 Waldemar. " I found her very ill, and she was very much distressed lest she should die before she could find roe and confess the story of her past life, and right, if possible, a great wrong. She had lived in New York for many years, and has kept track of us all the time. She did not intend, ehe said, ever to confess this secret, but something which I once said to her, aid kindnes^ which, upon one or two occasionp, she had received from you, finally softened her." " What !" exclaimed Rich, astonished, while light began to break in upon him, " kindness from me ! When ?" "Once, when she fell and sprained her ankle, and again when you spoke kindly to and expressed sympathy for her, one evening upon the street; and she is the aunt of tbat man who attempted your life this summer." "Yes. Crouch. But go on, please, Aunt Audrey." "She told me." Miss Waldemar resumed, " that when she was a young girl she lived with a wealthy gentleman in this State, who had a son and a daughter. She was with them for several years, having been taken, when quite a child, to wait upon the mistress and little girl. She represented herself, as having been a bright, good-look-ing girl, ambitious and high spirited, and possessed with a feeling of rebellion and diecontent because she had been born in such a humble station, and was destined to toil for her own living. This envy and a certain antagonism against everyone more fortunate than herself have been the bane of her life. She studied and tried to improve her condition. Her greatest mistake was in allowing herself to become enamoured of her master He was unconscious of it, or if he did snspect it, never betrayed it. He was always kind to her, often making her little presents for services she rendered him, and this only added fuel to the flame. At last she became inspired with an ineane hope that perhaps she might win his regard, entrap him into marrying her, and thus raise herself from the humble position of a servant to that of mistress of a handsome home. " But all these wild dreams were suddenly brought to grief upon learning that the young man was about to be married to a beautiful and wealthy girl. This knowledge drove her to the verge of despair, inspired her with an intense hatred for and a desire to be revenged upon one who had robbed her, as she believed, of all fature happiness. "To accomplish this, she begged, upon their marriage, to be allowed to go as a servant into their family. Her request was granted, and then she only waited and watched for her opportunity. Her love for her young master increased as time went by, and in proportion to it grew her hatred for his wife. A year after their marriage a son was born to them, and this girl having proved herself so trustworthy in all her duties, waB deputed to officiate as his nurse, rather than give him to the care of a stranger, while her former place was filled by another servant. The beautiful boy grew and thrived 'inder her care, and both father and mother appeared to live only for him ; the father especially, while \\e spent hours in the nursery watching his interesting ways, or giving himself up to merry frolics with him. "All this time the girl continued to cherish her hopeless passion, and often when believing herself alone with her charge, she would talk to him of her love for his papa, givingexpreesiontoendleesnonsense of that kind. One day, however, she f got herself into serious trouble in this way. Her mistress had done something to dia- ' please her, and ths circumstances bad

aroused all her furious hatred. Sitting in the nursery with the child clasped in her arms, she began to babble of her love for its father and her hatred for ts mother. She vowed that the little one should yet call her mamma in place of the white-faced beauty who had robbed her of everything enjoyabla in life. She declared that some day the mother would die, and then she would find some way to step into her shoes. A slight movement attracted her attention when her jealous fury had reached this pitch, and glancing up she saw her master's wife and ei?ter standing in the door- way. and knew by the expression of their faces that they had heard what she had said. "An indescribable scene ensued ; the sister denounced the vindictive servant in tho severest terinp, heaping contempt upon her, declaring in her ecornful'anger tbat she was not fit to clean her master's boots, much less aspire to bocome his equal. Her mistress commanded her to leave the house, ■he could not endure the sight of her after that or trust hor with her child. But she assumed tho most abject contrition, and begged and prayed to be allowbd to remain with the child she 'so dearly loved. 1 She promised never to forget hersalf again, and pretended she had not meant half what she had said. Her humility deceived them, and recovering somewhatfromtheir astonishment and anger they thought they had perhaps attached too much importance to hey senseless babble, and so they concluded to say no more about it, and to let it remain on probation. But only a deeper hatred took possession of her, and an insatiable desire to be revenged. "Her opportunity came at last. There was to be a fair in the town near which they lived, and the servants were all allowed to attend it. On the sarao night the master's sieter was to be married, and this would necessitate his own and hia wife's absence until a late hour. Only the nurse was left behind with the child ; but she claimed that sho had no fear, fo y the other servants would return at nine o'clock. As soon, however, as every one was gone, this strange woman administered a sleeping potion to hor little charge, arrayed it in warm clothing— for it was midwinter drowsed hereelf in a long, dark cloak, with a veil over her face, and stole out of the house. Depositing the child in a sum-mer-house, she covered it warmly with a sh iwl, then ran back into the mansion, and in varions places set fire to the lower part of the house. Accomplishing this dreadful purpose, she made her way from the burning building, caught up tho sleeping child, and walked several rr>iles to a town where she was iv t known, and whnre she took a train for New York city. Afterward fearing discovery hore, she made her way to that little manufacturing settlement near my former home. Tho house she had left to its sad fate wa3 upon a large estate, somewhat removed from any other residence, so that whon the fire was discovered tho whole structure was enveloped in flames, When the master and mistress returned, their beautiful house had become a maas of smouldering ruins, while it was believed that both nurse and child had perished in the conflagration." " Aunt Audrey !" cried Rich, starting up excitedly, and able to control himself no longer, "of courpo I know you have been tolling me my own story, but I cannot bear any moie until I know who were my father and mother. Who am I? What was their name?" Audrey arose, and. going up to him, laid her trembling hands upon his shoulder, and looked fondly into his eyes. "Rich," she said, in a low, tremulous voice, " you have no mother; your father is the man whom all my lije I have loved. Ilis name is Arthur Ualstead." Then, tremb'ing and exhausted with all the excitement of the day, she sank weakly upon a chair, and weeping, buried her face in her handkerchief.