“It was. Now tell me—oh, tell me quick, if you know. Is that child yet living?”
“She is, dear lady.”
“Where—where—tell me, I implore you! I am that child’s mother!”
“I have thought so ever since I met you, dear lady,” said Hattie. “This very morning I was looking in Jessie’s brown eyes and studying her features, and I never saw a stronger resemblance than you bear to each other.”
“This morning? This morning you saw her?” gasped Mrs. Emory, trembling with excitement.
“Yes, madam, and you can soon see her. But please be calm, or you will have another attack.”
“Oh! I will be calm. But the thought of seeing her, knowing she is alive, is almost too much happiness. Tell me, is she good, pure, like yourself?”
“She is good and pure, Mrs. Emory. For two years and more I have seen her every day, and have had the good fortune to render her more than one kindness and to protect her from the abuse of a cruel mistress.”
“Our Father in Heaven will reward you for it.”
“Did you not, nearly two years ago—I do not know exactly the time, however—call at a house where this poor girl had been bound out, to inquire after her?” asked Hattie.