Way Down East - A Romance of New England Life - Page 24/80

A mother's love--how sweet the name!

What is a mother's love?

--A noble, pure and tender flame,

Enkindled from above,

To bless a heart of earthly mould;

The warmest love that can grow cold;

That is a mother's love.--James Montgomery.

It took all the medical skill of which the doctor was capable, and the

best part of twenty-four hours of hard work to rouse Anna from the

death-like lethargy into which she had fallen. Toward morning she

opened her eyes and turning to her mother, said appealingly: "Mother, you believe I am innocent, don't you?"

"Certainly, darling," Mrs. Moore replied, without knowing in the least

to what her daughter referred. The doctor, who was present at the

time, turned away. He knew more than the mother. It was one of those

tragedies of everyday life that meant for the woman the fleeing away

from old associations, like a guilty thing, long months of hiding, the

facing of death; and, if death was not to be, the beginning of life

over again branded with shame. And all this bitter injustice because

she had loved much and had faith in the man she loved. The doctor had

faced tragedies before in his professional life, but never had he felt

his duty so heavily laid upon him as when he begged Mrs. Moore for a

few minutes' private conversation in the gray dawn of that early

morning.

He felt that the life of his patient depended on his preparing her

mother for the worst. The girl, he knew, would probably confess all

during her convalescence, and the mother must be prepared, so that the

first burst of anguish would have expended itself before the girl

should have a chance to pour out the story of her misfortune.

"Tell me, doctor, is she going to die?" the mother asked, as she closed

the door of the little sitting-room and they were alone. The poor lady

had not thought of her own misfortunes since Anna's illness. The

selfishness of the woman of the world was completely obliterated by the

anxiety of the mother.

"No, she will not die, Mrs. Moore; that is, if you are able to control

your feelings sufficiently, after I have made a most distressing

disclosure, to give her the love and sympathy that only you can."

She looked at him with troubled eyes. "Why, doctor, what do you mean?

My daughter has always had my love and sympathy, and if of late I have

appeared somewhat engrossed by my own troubles, I assure you my

daughter is not likely to suffer from it during her illness."