Janet’s reply was to produce the little book from her handbag, showing marks of service, and then to open it at the fly leaf. There Caroline herself had written “Janet Hermann,” with the reference to St. Luke xv. 20. She had not dared to write more fully, but the good minister of Burkeville had, at Janet’s desire, put his own initials, and likewise written in full:
“Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears, for thy work shall be rewarded, saith the Lord, and they shall come again from the land of the enemy. And there is hope in thine end, saith the Lord, that thy children shall come again to their own border.”
“He might have written it for me,” said Caroline. “My child—one at least is come to me.”
“Or you have gone into her far country to seek her,” said Janet.
“Can I write to this good man?” asked Caroline. “I do long to thank him.”
“O yes. I wrote to him only the day before yesterday.”
There was but little more of the narrative. “At night he borrowed a waggon, and drove me to a station in time to take the early train for the north-east, supplying me with means for the journey, and giving me a letter to a family relation of his, in New York State. I was most kindly sheltered there for a few days while I looked out for advertisements. I found, however, that I must change my name, for the history of the Burkeville affair was copied into all the papers, and there were warnings against the two impostors, giving my maiden name likewise, as that in which my Zurich diploma had been made out. This cut me off from all medical employment, and I had to think what else I could do, not that I cared much what became of me. Seeing a notice that an assistant was wanted to colour and finish photographs, I thought my drawing, though only schoolroom work, might serve. I applied, showed specimens, and was thought satisfactory. I sent my address to Mr. Field, who had promised to let me know in case my husband made any attempt to trace me, or if I could find my way back to him, but up to this time I have heard absolutely nothing. The few white days in my life are, however, when I get a cheering, comforting letter from him. How I should once have laughed their phraseology to scorn, but then I did not know what reality meant, and they are the only balm of my life now, except mother’s little book, and what they have led me to.
“But you see why I cannot come with Elvira. Not only do I not dare to meet my mother, but it might bring down upon her one whom she could not welcome. Besides, it is clearly fit that I should strive to meet him again; I would try to be less provoking to him now.”
“I see, my dear,” said Caroline. “But why did you never draw on Mr. Wakefield all this time?”
“I never thought we ought to take that money,” said Janet. “I could maintain myself, and that was all I wanted. Besides I was ashamed to bid him use a false name, and I durst not receive a letter under my own, nor did I know whether Demetrius might go on applying.”