After that Godfrey stayed in Miss Rossiter’s house, which seemed a sort of hospital, and was so distasteful to Miss Julia, when at last she came from Florida, that she accepted her Uncle Calvert’s invitation, and went to the poky house on Washington Square, where the Sixth Avenue cars on one side, and the University on the other, nearly drove her wild with the never-ending tinkle of their bells.
Julia had heard every particular of the story before she came home, for her father had written it to her, and had told her of Gertie’s illness, and Edith’s presence in Miss Rossiter’s house. Thus her first surprise and indignation had had time to abate, and now she was in a kind of bewildered state, incapable of realizing anything to the full, except the fact that in some sort her aunt had gone over to the enemy, leaving her alone on the old vantage ground of dislike and opposition to that woman through whom all this had come upon them. Fortunately, however, for Julia, her mind was just then occupied with thoughts of a Southern bachelor, who had offered himself and his reputed half million for her acceptance. This offer she was duly considering when she came home, and after seeing how matters were at her Aunt Christine’s, and staying a day or two in the dark old house in Washington Square, she nearly made up her mind to accept it, though the man was forty and bored her nearly to death with his twaddling talk about his horses and dogs. She had not seen Edith during the one day and night spent at Miss Rossiter’s, neither had she mentioned her name or inquired for Gertie, except to ask if the fever was considered catching, and how her aunt liked having her house turned into a hospital! Of this indifference Edith knew nothing, and would not have cared if she had. All her thoughts were centred in that little, white-faced girl slowly groping her way back to life and reason, and talking now far more than she had done at first when the water was so still and the boat sailed so steadily. She was saved; she would live; there was no question about that, and Edith had only to wait patiently for the day when the blue eyes would first look at her with recognition in their glance, and the dear voice call her mother.
Miss Rossiter had given her Gertie’s message, and she knew the words by heart, and repeated them to herself as she watched for the first faint sign of reason. It was on a pleasant April day, and the windows of the room were open, and the sun shone softly upon the plants which Miss Rossiter had placed outside the windows, where they made quite a little garden.
Edith had been up all night, and was still sitting across the room, leaning her tired head upon her hand, when a sound caught her ear and brought her to her feet, where she stood listening intently, wondering if she could be mistaken, or had she heard the blessed name mother, and was she the mother meant and Gertie’s the voice which called her.
“Mother, my mother,” it came again, and then Edith glided across the floor, and parting the silken hangings to the bed looked eagerly in.
Gertie was awake, and sane, and thinking herself alone had tried to put things together and remember where she was, and what it was she heard long ago, which made her so glad.
“Oh, I know I have a mother,” she said to herself, and it was this word Edith caught.
“Mother, my mother,” Gertie said again, delighted to repeat the dear name, and then it was that Edith parted the curtains and looked in upon her.
Oh, the rapturous joy of that first long gaze when eye met eye, and told without the aid of words the mighty love there was between the mother and the child meeting as such for the first time in the full sense of the relation. My pen cannot describe it, neither should it if it could, for there are some scenes over which a vail must be thrown, and this is one of them. Suffice it to say that Edith was perfectly satisfied with Gertie’s reception of her, and when, an hour later, Colonel Schuyler looked into the room he found them fast asleep, both heads on the same pillow, Edith’s arms around Gertie’s neck, and one of Gertie’s pale, wan hands resting on Edith’s face. This picture touched the colonel, and he cried softly to himself as he stood gazing at the two, so like each other in their sleep that he wondered he had never seen the resemblance before. Then he called Miss Rossiter, who came and looked, and cried a little too; but neither spoke a word, and after a moment’s silence went out together, and closing the door left them alone together, the mother and her child.