"At first Eliza appeared a little cool, but this soon wore off. She did
not talk much of Hugh. Neither did she say much of Adaline, who was then
away at school. Still my visit was a sadly satisfactory one, as we
recalled old times when we were girls together, weeping over our great
loss when our husbands were laid to rest. Then we spoke of their
friendship, and lastly of the contract.
"'It sounds preposterous, in me, I know,' Mrs. Worthington said, when we
parted, 'you are so rich, and I so poor, but if ever your Alice should
want a mother's care, I will gladly give it to her.' "This was nearly eight years ago. In my anxiety about you, I failed to
write her for a long, long time, while she was long in answering, and
then the correspondence ceased till just before her removal to Kentucky,
when she apprised me of the change. You have now the history of Mrs.
Worthington, the only person who comes to mind as one to whose care I
can intrust you."
"But, mother, I may not be wanted there," and Alice's lip quivered
painfully.
"You will not go empty-handed, nor be a burden to them. They are poor,
and money will not come amiss. I said that Mr. Liston would attend to
all pecuniary matters, paying your allowance quarterly; and I am sure
you will not object when I tell you that I think it right to leave
Adaline the sum of one thousand dollars. It will not materially lessen
your inheritance, and it will do her a world of good. Mr. Liston will
arrange it for you. You will remain here until you hear from Mrs.
Worthington, and then abide by her arrangements. Will you go, my
daughter--go cheerfully and do as I desire?"
"Yes, mother, I'll go," came gaspingly from Alice's lips. "I'll go; but,
mother, oh, mother," and Alice's cry ended as it always did, "you will
not, you must not die!"
But neither tears, nor prayers could avail to keep the mother longer.
Her work on earth was done, and after this conversation with her
daughter, she grew worse so rapidly that hope died out of Alice's heart,
and she knew that soon she would be motherless. There were days and
nights of pain and delirium in which the sick woman recognized none of
those around her save Alice, whom she continually blessed as her
darling, praying that God, too, would bless and keep His covenant child.
At last there came a change, and one lovely Sabbath morning, ere the
bell from St. Paul's tower sent forth its summons to the house of God,
there rang from its belfry a solemn toll, and the villagers listening to
it, said, as they counted forty-four, that Mrs. Johnson was dead.