CHAPTER XXIII
"MOTHER"
Not one of the four girls closed her eyes during the long night following the dinner given by Mrs. Curtis. Miss Jenny Ann sat by Mollie until toward morning, when Eleanor and Lillian relieved her. Madge and Phil walked up and down the deck in order to be ready if they were called. But as the long night wore on, Mollie exhibited no sign of returning consciousness.
After an early breakfast the next morning Miss Jones went back to her charge, and the girls lingered in the cabin sitting room talking together in low tones.
Madge kept her arms about Eleanor. Every now and then she would lean over to kiss her cousin.
Nellie laughed softly. "What's the matter, Madge? Why are you so affectionate with me all of a sudden? Does it make you care more for me because poor, lovely Mollie is so ill, and because it might just as easily have been me, or Phil, or Lillian?"
Madge nodded. "Perhaps that is the reason."
Neither Lillian nor Eleanor even faintly dreamed that their friend had anything on her mind to worry her, except the critical condition poor Mollie was in; but Phil knew differently. She had long suspected what Mrs. Curtis's preference for Madge meant. Phyllis and Miss Jenny Ann had even discussed the possibility of their captain leaving them. However, Phil had never broached the subject to Madge. She Phil couldn't, she wouldn't think of it.
Mrs. Curtis and Tom arrived at the houseboat just as Madge and Phil were about to relieve Miss Jenny Ann's second watch. The physician had said that he expected Mollie to regain consciousness some time during the morning, and that she must not be left alone for a moment.
"Mrs. Curtis, slip into the room to see Mollie," whispered Madge. "Phil and I must go to her now. She is unconscious, so your presence could not frighten her. I want you to see how beautiful she is. She is really the prettiest person I ever saw, except you," Madge declared, as she threw a kiss to her friend and hurried after Phil into the cabin.
Miss Jenny Ann went into the sitting-room to lie down. Eleanor and Lillian went into the kitchen to wash the dishes.
Madge and Phil sat side by side at Mollie's berth. Madge's eyes were fixed on Mollie's unconscious face, but Phil looked often at her chum. Phyllis cared very little for wealth and position, for fine clothes and servants, but she knew these things were very dear to her friend. Yet, in a vague way, she realized that Madge would be likely to grow into a finer, sweeter woman without them. Phyllis understood their little captain. She knew that Madge was full of fine impulses, was brave and loyal in the midst of difficulties; but she also knew that she was easily spoiled and that too much money and admiration would not be good for her.
"Phil," asked Madge, "isn't Mollie stirring? Is there anything we ought to do for her?"
Phil bent over to gaze more attentively at their patient. She studied every curve and line in the girl's exquisite face. Now that Mollie's eyes were closed, and the vacant, pathetic stare was no more visible in them, her beauty was the more remarkable. Something in Mollie's quiet features seemed to surprise Phyllis, but she said nothing.
"We can't do anything but wait," answered Phil. "The doctor said that quiet is all Mollie needs. She is sure to come to herself some time to-day."
Phil slid her chair up close beside her chum's and kissed her friend on the cheek. It was an unusual demonstration for the reserved Phyllis. Madge stared at her. Then she turned a little pale. "You know what has happened to me, don't you?" she whispered. "I am sure you must know."
Phil bowed her head.
"Can't you help me decide?" begged Madge.
"No." Phil shook her head sadly. "You'll have to make up your mind for yourself."
The two girls sat in silence after this. They heard Mrs. Curtis come softly into the room and take a low chair in the far corner of the cabin, so as not to disturb Mollie if the girl should awake. She could just see the bed, but not the face of the girl on the pillow.
By and by Mollie stirred. "I am thirsty," she said distinctly. "Will some one please get me a glass of water?"
Phil rose quickly. "Here it is, Mollie," she answered, handing the girl the water, and trying to lift her with the other arm. Madge stooped over to aid her.
"Thank you," responded Mollie gently. "But why do you call me Mollie? My name isn't Mollie."
"We never liked to call you 'Moll'," replied Madge soothingly. "Mollie seemed to us to be a prettier name."
The girl laughed lightly. "No, I shouldn't think you would. My name is Madeleine, not Mollie. And you are Phyllis and Madge. I wonder why I never told you before that my name is Madeleine." Mollie's eyes had lost their pathetic stare. They were quiet and reasonable.
"Don't try to talk, Mollie—Madeleine, I mean," murmured Phil. "You must try to go to sleep again."
She and Madge never changed their positions until the ill girl's head grew heavy on their arms and she slept peacefully.
"O Phil!" Madge faltered, "you don't think Mollie is going to——"
"Sh-sh!" returned Phyllis warningly. "Don't show her you are surprised at anything she says."
Madge clenched her hands to keep them from trembling, but she could feel her knees shaking under her.
The patient opened her eyes again. "I fell off the yacht, didn't I?" she inquired. "It's funny, but I couldn't think what had happened to me for a long time. I was trying to remember all night. It was such a long night. I kept seeing dreadful, rude men, who were cruel to me. I must have been dreaming. Where is my mother? Why doesn't she come to me?"
"Your mother!" exclaimed Madge. A glance from Phil silenced her.
"Your mother can't come to you now, she is——" Phyllis faltered.
"Never mind," the gentle girl spoke faintly. "Mother may be resting. She must have been dreadfully frightened when she learned I had tumbled overboard. I think something fell and struck me on the head."
"Don't talk any more, please, dear," entreated Phyllis. "You can tell us all about what happened when you have rested a little longer. You are very tired."
The sick girl dozed again. Phyllis and Madge slipped their aching arms out from under their patient's pillow.
"Mollie's memory has come back to her, hasn't it?" Madge breathed in her chum's ear. "I wonder if it will go away again, or if she will remember more about herself when she is stronger?"
"I believe her memory has returned," Phil answered softly. "It is a miracle. We must be very careful. Any excitement or surprise might kill her. I wish the doctor were here."
Some one stole across the room without a sound. The girls knew it must be Mrs. Curtis. Neither one of them stirred nor for the instant glanced at their friend; they were too intent on their patient. But they were grateful for her presence. She had heard Mollie's peculiar remarks. She would know what they ought to do when Mollie began to talk again.
Mrs. Curtis came so close to the sick girl's bed that Madge and Phil stepped back to let her have the nearest place. She leaned over and looked at Mollie as though she would never grow tired of gazing at her. Once her lips moved, but it was impossible to tell what she said. Then Mrs. Curtis's strength seemed to give way. She dropped on her knees, with her arms resting on the edge of Mollie's bed.
Ten minutes passed. No one moved or spoke in the tiny cabin chamber. Mollie slept peacefully. Mrs. Curtis did not stir. She was like a figure carved in stone. She was waiting for something to happen. Was it for the girl on the bed to speak again?
Madge and Phil scarcely dared to breathe. They did not understand the situation, but they felt themselves to be in the presence of a mystery. A drama was being enacted in the tiny room, and they were the only audience to it.
"Mother, where are you?" Mollie's voice sounded clear and strong.
"I am here," Mrs. Curtis replied softly, not stirring from her position by the bed.
"Why hasn't Tom been here to see me? And why are Phyllis and Madge so good to me? I don't understand."
Mollie turned restlessly on her pillow. Her hair fell away from her forehead and revealed the jagged, ugly scar. Mrs. Curtis saw it. For the first time she gave an involuntary shudder of emotion. Mollie put up her hand to her head with the old, familiar gesture of pain.
"My head hurts," she announced, as though she had not known of her injury before. "Have I been sick a long time? Somehow, you look so different."
Mrs. Curtis nodded. "Yes, daughter, you have been ill a long, long time. But you will be well and happy when you wake up again. You are with Mother now."
Mrs. Curtis gathered Mollie into her arms and the two girls stole out of the tiny cabin, closing the door behind them. The mother and daughter were alone.
"What has happened to you, Madge Morton? Why do you girls look so strangely at me?" demanded Tom Curtis as he caught sight of Madge's face. He was leaning against the deck rail staring curiously at his friends. "Is Mollie worse?"
"Oh, no; she is not worse. She is well. That is, she can remember. She is—— Oh, I don't know what I am saying," cried Madge in confusion.
Miss Jenny Ann came out of the sitting room. Lillian and Eleanor also joined the little group on deck. Still Madge was silent.
"Ought I to tell?" she faltered, looking at Phyllis. "Don't you think Mrs. Curtis ought to tell Tom?"
"If you have bad news for me speak quickly!" returned Tom. "I would rather hear it from you than anybody in the world. You are almost like a sister to me, Madge."
The little captain went forward and put her hand gently on Tom's arm. "You won't need me for a sister now, Tom," she said gently. "Phil and I do not understand what has happened. Your mother will have to explain to you. But our Mollie is not Mollie at all. Her name is Madeleine. Her memory has come back to her. She thinks your mother is her mother. And Mrs. Curtis called her daughter!"
The cabin door opened. Mrs. Curtis walked out, moving like a woman in a dream. "Don't speak loudly," she said. "Madeleine has gone to sleep." She crossed over to Tom. "Tom," she explained quietly, "the girls have found your sister after twelve years; my baby is a young woman."
Tom put his arm about his mother. Mrs. Curtis spoke rapidly now, as though she feared her voice would fail her. "Miss Jones, years ago my little daughter, who was ten years old, fell from our steam yacht. She had been left alone by her nurse for a few minutes. When the woman came back the child was not to be found. No one saw or heard her fall overboard. The boat was searched, but Madeleine had disappeared. We were off the coast of Florida. For months and months we searched for my daughter's body. We offered everything we had in the world for news of her. No word came. I used to think she would come back to me. Long ago I gave up hope. Now, when I saw this poor Mollie, I thought I recognized my child, and when she opened her eyes her memory returned to her. She knew I was her mother, in spite of my white hair. I think it is because she now remembers nothing of her unhappy past. She thinks she was hurt only a short time ago. She must not learn the truth until she is stronger. Will you keep me here with you until I can take my daughter home?"
Mrs. Curtis staggered slightly and grew very white. It was Madge who sprang to her side and led her to a chair. "You have found what you want most in the world," she whispered, "I am so glad for your sake."