"Surely," she said, with a sudden sinking of the heart, "you have not come to take her away?"
"This letter will explain my object in visiting you," said the woman, drawing a sealed envelope from a bag which she carried in her hand.
The cooper's wife nervously broke open the letter, and read as follows:
"MRS. HARDING: Seven years ago last New Year's night a child was
left on your doorsteps, with a note containing a request that you
would care for it kindly as your own. Money was sent at the same
time to defray the expenses of such care. The writer of this note
is the mother of the child, Ida. There is no need to explain here
why I sent away the child from me. You will easily understand that
it was not done willingly, and that only the most imperative
necessity would have led me to such a step. The same necessity
still prevents me from reclaiming my child, and I am content still
to leave Ida in your charge. Yet there is one thing I desire. You
will understand a mother's wish to see, face to face, her own
child. With this view I have come to this neighborhood. I will not
say where I am, for concealment is necessary to me. I send this
note by a trustworthy attendant, Mrs. Hardwick, my little Ida's
nurse in her infancy, who will conduct Ida to me, and return her
again to you. Ida is not to know who she is visiting. No doubt she
believes you to be her mother, and it is well that she should so
regard you. Tell her only that it is a lady, who takes an interest
in her, and that will satisfy her childish curiosity. I make this
request as IDA'S MOTHER."
Mrs. Harding read this letter with mingled feelings. Pity for the writer; a vague curiosity in regard to the mysterious circumstances which had compelled her to resort to such a step; a half feeling of jealousy, that there should be one who had a claim to her dear, adopted daughter, superior to her own; and a strong feeling of relief at the assurance that Ida was not to be permanently removed—all these feelings affected the cooper's wife.
"So you were Ida's nurse?" she said, gently.
"Yes, ma'am," said the stranger. "I hope the dear child is well?"
"Perfectly well. How much her mother must have suffered from the separation!"
"Indeed you may say so, ma'am. It came near to breaking her heart."
"I don't wonder," said sympathizing Mrs. Harding. "I can judge of that by my own feelings. I don't know what I should do, if Ida were to be taken from me."