As I ceased speaking a strange unearthly wail arose on the air, and a poor wounded cat, roused by our voices, sprang, or rather fell from a box in the dairy window to the ground, and strove to make its way to us with piteous mewing. It was perfectly blind, as we could tell from its actions, and its fur and flesh on one side were singed and burnt by the fire. It was gaunt from starvation, and cried aloud with a hollow voice in its vain efforts to find us. I went forward and took it up in my arms, and saw then that it was a pet of mother’s, that had been perhaps forgotten in the haste of leaving, and with fond local affection, was starving rather than quit the place. As I gazed upon the poor famished creature, with its white sightless eyes and emaciated frame, and thought of mother’s fondness and care for it, for the first time losing control of myself, I burst into tears.
Ben touched my shoulder and said:
“Less go, John; we can’t do no good staying here, and are wasting a heap of precious time.”
Knowing that Mr. Bemby’s larder now had no room for cats, I made the poor creature a bed in the dairy, and placing something to eat and some water by it, we left it. Throwing our bridles over our arms we walked on to Mr. Bemby’s, which was but a short distance through the trees. As we approached the house I saw my beautiful boy playing near the steps. He looked up in perfect amazement as I ran to him, and his lips quivered with frightened surprise as a seeming old woman caught him up and strained him to her heart. Bearing him in my arms I entered the house, and at the sound of my footsteps Carlotta came to the door, her beautiful face pale with anxiety and alarm; for every footfall on the doorway now meant robbery or insult. She started back in affright at my wild appearance and grotesque disguise, but the next instant, as I murmured “Carlotta!” her arms were around me and she was sobbing on my shoulder.
“Oh, thank God! we have met again. Oh, John, my husband, what we have suffered since I saw you last!” she exclaimed, with convulsive weeping.
“I know it all, darling; Horace has told me. But compose yourself, dearest, and let us go to mother, if she be still alive.”
“She is still living, but I fear will not live long. She grows feebler every day. I will go in and prepare her for your coming.”
She left me and went into another room, while I placed my little boy, who had been staring at his mother and myself with a look of amazement, again upon the floor, and tore off my bonnet and dress.
“No matter what happens,” I said, as Ben came in with his wife from the kitchen, where he had gone to look for her, “I won’t wear this ridiculous costume, here at least.”
I had scarcely done greeting Ben’s wife when his mother came in, not so plethoric as when I had last seen her, but with the same good natured face and kind heart.