GENEVRA.
Far more elated with her sister's success than Helen herself, Katy could talk of little else next morning, telling Helen how many complimentary things Wilford had said of her, and how much he had heard others say, while Mark Ray had seemed perfectly fascinated.
"I never thought till last night how nice it would be for you to marry Mark and settle in New York," Katy said, never dreaming how she was wounding Helen, who, but for Mrs. Cameron's charge, would have proclaimed Mark's engagement with Juno.
As it was, she felt the words struggling against her lips; but she forced them back, and tried to laugh at Katy's castles in the air, as she called them.
"You looked beautiful, Wilford said," Katy continued, "and I am so glad, only," and Katy's voice fell, while her eyes rested upon the crib where the baby was sleeping, "only I think Wilford is more anxious than ever for me to go again into society. He will not hear of my staying home for the entire season, as I wish to do, for baby is better to me than all the parties in the world. I am so tired of it all, and have been ever since I was at Newport. I was so vain and silly there, and I have been so sorry since. But that summer cured me entirely, and you don't know how I loathe the very thought of entering society again. For your sake I should be willing to go sometimes, if there were no one else. But Mrs. Banker has kindly offered to take you under her charge, and so there is no necessity for me to matronize you."
Helen laughed merrily at the idea of being matronized by the little girlish creature not yet twenty years of age, kissing fondly the white, thin cheek so much whiter and thinner than it used to be.
"You are confining yourself too much," she said. "You are losing all your color. Fresh air will do you good, even if parties will not. Suppose we drive this afternoon to Marian Hazelton's and show her the baby."
Nothing could please Katy better. Several times since baby's birth she sent a message to Fourth Street, begging of Marian to come and see her treasure, and once, urged by her entreaties, Wilford himself had written a brief note asking that Miss Hazleton would call if perfectly convenient. But there had always been some excuse, some plea of work, some putting off the coming, until Katy feared that something might he wrong, and entered heartily into Helen's propositions. It was a pleasant winter's day, and toward the middle of the afternoon the Cameron carriage stopped before the humble dwelling where Marian Hazleton was living.
"You needn't go up," Katy said to the nurse, feeling that she would rather meet Marian without the presence of a stranger. "Miss Lennox will carry baby and you can wait here. It is not cold," she added, as the nurse showed signs of remonstrance, "and if it is, John can drive you around a square or two."
After this there was no further demur, and Katy soon stood with Helen at the door of Marian's room. She was at home, uttering an exclamation of astonishment when she saw who her visitors were, and turning white as ashes, when Katy, taking her baby from Helen's arms, placed it in her lap, saying,
"You would not come to see it and so I brought it to you. Isn't she a beauty?"
There was a blur before Marian's eyes, a pressure about her heart which seemed congealing into stone, but she tried to stammer out something, bending over the tiny thing. Wilford Cameron's child, which she could not see for the thick blackness around her. Tears and bitter pangs of grief had the news of that child's birth wrung from Marian, bringing back all the dreadful past, and making her hear again as if it were but yesterday, the cold, decisive words:
"If there were a child it would of course be different."
There was a child now, and it lay in Marian's lap, clad in the garments she had made, the cambric and the lace, the flannel and the merino, which nevertheless could not take from it that look of sickly infancy, or make it beautiful to others beside the mother. But it was Wilford's child, and so when for a moment both Helen and Katy turned to examine a rosebush just in bloom, Marian Hazleton hugged the little creature to her bosom, whispering over it a blessing which, coming from one so wronged, was doubly valuable. There was a tear, one of Marian's, on its face, when Katy came back to it, and there were more in Marian's eyes, falling like rain, as Katy asked, "What makes you cry?"
"I was thinking of what might have been," came struggling from Marian's pale lips, and Helen felt a throb of pain as she remembered Dr. Grant, and then thought of herself in connection with this sad "Might have been."
Marian, too, knew the full meaning of those words, as was attested by the gush of tears which dropped so fast on baby's face that Katy, alarmed for the safety of the crimson cloak wrapped around it for effect, took the child in her own arms, commencing that cooing conversation which shows how much young mothers love their first born. Marian's tears ceased at last, and after questioning Helen of Silverton and its people, she turned abruptly to Katy, still rocking and talking to her child, and asked:
"What do you intend to call her?"
"Genevra," Katy said, and simultaneously with that word Marian Hazleton dropped without sound or motion to the floor.
Had Helen and Katy been put upon their oath, both would have testified that even before the answer came, Marian had fainted, just as she did when Helen first went to secure her services for Katy's bridal wardrobe. This time, however, there was no Dr. Grant at hand, and so the frightened ladies did what they could, bathing her face and chafing her cold hands until the life came slowly back, and with a frightened expression Marian looked around her, asking what had happened?
"Yes, I know now," she said, as baby's cry fell on her ear, but restoring her wholly to herself. "Fainting is one of my weaknesses," she continued, turning to Helen. "You have seen me so before. It is my heart," and with this explanation she satisfied her visitors, though Katy expressed much solicitude and proposed to send her medical aid.
But Marian declined, and when it was time for Katy to go, she took the child in her own arms again, and as if there was now a new link which bound her to it, she kissed it many times, while in the eyes fastened so lovingly, so wistfully upon its face, there was a strange, yearning look which neither Helen nor Katy could fathom. Certain it is they had no suspicion of the truth, and on their way home they spoke with much concern of these fainting attacks, wondering if nothing could be done to ward them off.