There was enough on the table, and the food was good. Miss Scrimp had got started in it, and did not dare to advance backward.
CHAPTER XXXII.
“SHE IS DYING!”
Hattie was engaged that night, until a late hour, over her writing-desk. A letter which she had already written, enveloped, sealed, and stamped ready for mailing, was opened, a long postscript added, and then it was sealed with wax, and from a tiny seal in ivory an impression was made—an anchor and a cross, signifying Hope and Faith.
Hattie wept over this letter, and, after she had sealed it, took up the mountain sketch we have alluded to, and looked at it long and tearfully. Then, with a swift, skillful hand, she copied this sketch on a smaller scale on the head of a large letter-sheet. Then, taking three letters from envelopes, which all bore the pierced hearts as a seal, of which we have spoken several times, she read them over and over, and taking one, copied a portion of it beneath the sketch which she had just completed.
“If he will undertake the mission, by this Mr. W—— can be surely guided to that ‘Mountain Home,’ and if all is found, as I hope to our Father it may be, his mission will bring joy to a lonely heart, perhaps sweep away the clouds that have so long darkened my path; and then, absolved from my vow, I can throw off the veil that I abhor, and once more among my equals in the world take the place which belongs to me. Surely I deserve it if patience and long suffering ever met a reward.”
It was after midnight, by the tokens of the city bells, when our heroine closed her writing-desk. A brief time over her Bible, a little while at silent prayer, and then she lay down to rest on her coarse and humble bed, contented with her lot, and not for an instant regretting that she had refused a home of affluence and the fostering care of rich and loving friends.
At early dawn the loud, shrill calls of steam whistles, blown to wake the workers in great establishments, woke our heroine, and she was up and washed, ready to breakfast with the rest at the usual early hour.
Miss Scrimp, with her lean neck bandaged where it had been scalded the night before, sat grim and silent at her post. But the steaks were good and well cooked, the bread soft and fresh, the coffee strong, and all still went on as it had done since Hattie held the finger of fear above the old maid’s head.
The meal soon over, the chattering girls wended their way to their various shops, and Hattie, within almost a minute of her usual time, went to her table in the old book-bindery, which seemed almost like a home to her.
Mr. Jones met her with his usual pleasant good-morning as she went to her place, and other hands, whom she knew slightly, bowed; but these were the only recognitions. She had never made any intimacy in all the long months she had worked there.