Nancy first and last

by Amy Ella Blanchard

Nancy returned to the house. She felt very hopeful, almost buoyant. Something of her own mother's brave spirit was reflected in her. She had grown immeasurably in character since trouble had befallen her, and in the hours of self-communion, which a sick-bed must always induce, she had come face to face with the invisible powers which encourage a view of spiritual realities. Her mother's story enabled her better to understand values, though with this understanding came a truer realization of what she had given up in dismissing Terrence Wirt.

To the faltering tale of her romance her mother listened with grave interest. "No wonder, my darling, that all these shocks were too much for your poor little brain," she said. "How true it is that when troubles arrive they are so liable not to come singly but in battalions. It may be that it is to test our strength, our faith, our courage to the uttermost. Even a knowledge of enduring love comes to us many times in the midst of adversity."

"How well you understand. It is so comforting that you do understand, madre, and it is because you, too, had such great sorrows coming one after another. Yet how much braver you were than I. You did not succumb to them, but went right on."

"Ah, no. You must not think that. I did not go right on. At first I seemed paralyzed. I sank down, down into a gulf of despair, and only the necessity of action, the glimmer of that spark of hope led me forward."

"It will still lead you forward to find Pepé." She sat leaning against her mother's shoulder in silence for a moment, then she said wistfully, "Dear madre, do you think there is a faint glimmer, the faintest sort of glimmer of hope that I shall ever meet Terrence again? Of course I realize," she added quickly, "that everything is changed. We are poor. I am no longer the daughter of Mrs. James Loomis, no longer the heiress to this estate, but only the child of José Beltrán, whom no one ever heard of. In this locality family counts for everything, even for more than money. With my own precious mother I can face anything; I do not care for any of the things I have been taught to believe are the most worth while, yet I believe I shall always care for Terrence."

"He would be a very snobbish person if he were to avoid you for any reason except the one which sent him from you. If he truly loves you it is yourself only which counts."

"I wonder if he did truly love me," returned Nancy meditatively. "Could he have given me up if he had done so? No, I cannot believe yet that he really cared."

Mrs. Bertram looked at her wistfully. Her impulse was to remind the girl that it was she who had done the giving up, and it was a temptation to reassure her, yet why attempt it when there appeared little hope that the affair would ever be resumed! From what Nancy had told her she believed young Wirt to be worthy of the girl's love, but, until she had a personal knowledge, she felt that she must guard against bringing any more unhappiness into her daughter's life. The child has suffered enough as it is, she told herself.

The days slipped by until one afternoon came a tearful parting from the old home, from Parthy and Ira, both of whom openly lamented, yet looked forward to Miss Nancy's return in the spring. "Gwine souf fo' de wintah," was the word passed by the old retainers. "Tek de nuss. She dat sot on Miss Nancy kaint hire huh to leave, no way you fix it," Parthy told a neighbor. "When she comin' back? Laws, honey, she don' know no mo'n de daid. She boun' ter git her healf 'stored, Mis' Bertry say. Yas'm, me an' Iry stay right hyar." So even the most curious gossips had no idea of the true state of things when Nancy's farewells were made.

More than one well-known face was seen in the group gathered at the station. Good Mrs. Lippett, Patterson, his sister Betty, the Carters, the Browns, Dr. Plummer and, last of all, Mr. Weed. To him Nancy stretched forth her hand from the car window as the train began to move. He ran like a marionette to give her a final hand-clasp. "Good-bye, my best friend, good-bye," said Nancy brokenly. Then as the train moved faster it seemed as if it were the group which slipped away. With misty eyes she watched the little crowd disperse, her last impression being that of a sobbing old mammy, and the wooden features of the lawyer strangely distorted into something like emotion.