“Mary,” said the missionary, regarding her excitement with a troubled look, “Mary, your mother was terribly wounded on the island that night—wounded twice—for while the battle was raging she learned that her husband and child lived—then Queen Esther’s poniard struck her down.”
“Oh, my mother—my mother!” cried Mary.
“Let us be calm; I have heard from her twice; she was slowly recovering.”
“Oh, God is very good to us! In a little time I shall see her! we will take her away from these savages; no one shall tend her but myself; I am her oldest child; never till now did I know what a mother was; how pleasant the sound, when you can say father, and know it has a meaning. Father, when I was so lonely, why did you never say: ‘Mary—Mary Derwent, you are my own, own child?’ I could have borne everything after that.”
“I dared not. The love of one being had filled my soul with the sin idolatry; God allowed me to be smitten through my heart and through my pride; but I could neither cast off the love nor the resentment which a wrong that has no name, and which you could never understand, fastened like a viper on my heart. I dared not give up my soul to another worship, and thus offer a feeble service to my God. Besides, but you will not comprehend this, the very sight of you filled me with a tenderness so painful that I had no power to speak. Until I had ceased to hate my enemy I could not love her child without a pang of self-reproach.”
“But you love me now?”
The missionary smiled.
“Love you! I thank my God there is nothing but love in my heart—love and forgiveness. I ask but to place you in her arms, and leave the rest with Him.”
Mary looked eagerly forward; the night was closing in; and through the leafless hickory and beech trees a red sunset streamed along their path.
“It cannot be far off,” she said, with kindling eyes; “let us keep on, father—all night, if it takes so long. I shall never get warm again till her arms fold me. Look, the moon is rising; shall we get off and walk by its light? the snow-crust is strong enough to hold us, though our horses sink through it. Father, I feel as if some one wanted me and I must come.”