“A year and more,” said Alice, thoughtfully intent upon her face. “Months upon months since you brought me here!”
Harriet answered “Yes.”
“Brought me here, by force of gentleness and kindness. Me!” said Alice, shrinking with her face behind her hand, “and made me human by woman’s looks and words, and angel’s deeds!”
Harriet bending over her, composed and soothed her. By and bye, Alice lying as before, with the hand against her face, asked to have her mother called.
Harriet called to her more than once, but the old woman was so absorbed looking out at the open window on the darkness, that she did not hear. It was not until Harriet went to her and touched her, that she rose up, and came.
“Mother,” said Alice, taking the hand again, and fixing her lustrous eyes lovingly upon her visitor, while she merely addressed a motion of her finger to the old woman, “tell her what you know.”
“Tonight, my deary?”
“Ay, mother,” answered Alice, faintly and solemnly, “tonight!”
The old woman, whose wits appeared disorderly by alarm, remorse, or grief, came creeping along the side of the bed, opposite to that on which Harriet sat; and kneeling down, so as to bring her withered face upon a level with the coverlet, and stretching out her hand, so as to touch her daughter’s arm, began:
“My handsome gal—”