“The mind is capable to show
Thoughts of so dim a feature,
That consciousness can only know
Their presence and their nature.”
Such thoughts were hers,—dim and flitting, indeed; but she felt conscious of their continued presence, of their general character, and deeply conscious what they portended. They took one shape, moved in one course, and all pointed one way, and that was to evil,—some great impending evil to the two objects of her love and solicitude.
“But is there no hope?” she murmured aloud, in the fullness of her heart, while deeply pondering the matter, one day, as she sat alone at her open window, looking out on her husband and son engaged in their harvest, which she knew they were hurrying on to a close, before leaving her on the contemplated long, and perhaps perilous, expedition into the wilderness,—a circumstance that doubtless caused the subject, in the thus awakened state of her anxieties, to weigh at this time peculiarly heavy on her mind. “Is there no hope,” she repeated, with a sigh, “that this impending calamity may in some part be averted? Must they both be sacrificed? Must the faults of the erring father be visited on the innocent son, who had become the last hope of the mother’s heart? Kind Heaven! may not that son, at least, be delivered from the web of toils into which he has so strangely fallen, and yet be saved? Grant, O grant that hope—that one ray of hope—in this my hour of darkness!”
But what sound was that which now fell upon her ear, as if responsive to her ejaculation? It was a light tap or two on the door, which, after the customary bidding of walk in had been pronounced, was gently opened, when a young female of extreme beauty and loveliness entered. Mrs. Elwood involuntarily rose, and stood a moment, mute with surprise, in the unexpected presence. Soon recovering, however, she invited the fair stranger to a seat, still deeply wondering who she could be and what had occasioned her visit.
“You are the good woman of the house?—the wife of the new settler?—the mother of Mr. Claud Elwood?” asked the stranger girl, pausing between each interrogatory, till she had received an affirmative nod from Mrs. Elwood.
“Yes,” replied the latter kindly, but with an air of increasing curiosity, “yes, I am Mrs. Elwood. Would you like to see my son, Claud?”
“No,” rejoined the girl, in the same subdued and musical accents. “No, it was not him, but you, I came to see and speak with,” she added, carefully, withdrawing a screening handkerchief from a light parcel she bore in her hand, and displaying a small work-basket of exquisite make, which, advancing with hesitating steps, she presented to the other, as she resumed:
“I came with this, good lady, to see if you would be suited to have such an article?”
“It is very pretty,” said Mrs. Elwood, examining the workmanship with admiration, “beautiful, indeed. Did you make it?”
“I did, lady,” said the other modestly.