“You don’t like children, I reckon,” Irving continued, as the doctor drew back from the little feet which unconsciously touched his lap.
“No, I hate them,” was the answer, spoken half savagely, for at that moment a tiny hand was deliberately laid on his, as Willie showed a disposition to be friendly. “I hate them,” and the little hand was pushed rudely off.
Wonderingly the soft, large eyes of the child looked up to his. Something in their expression riveted the doctor’s gaze as by a spell. There were tears in the baby’s eyes, and the pretty lip began to quiver. The doctor’s finer feelings, if he had any, were touched, and muttering to himself, “I’m a brute,” he slouched his riding cap still lower down upon his forehead, and turning away to the window, relapsed into a gloomy reverie, in which thoughts of Lily were strangely mingled with thoughts of the dark-haired ’Lina, his bride elect, waiting for him in New York. The Dr. was more than half tired of his engagement, and ere returning to the city, he was going to Terrace Hill to have a long talk with Anna, to tell her frankly of his fears that ’Lina never could be congenial to them, and perhaps he would tell her the whole of Lily’s story.
But how should he commence a tale which would shock his gentle sister so terribly? He did not know, and while devising the best method, he forgot the two little feet which in their bright-colored hose were stretched out until they rested entirely upon his lap, while the tiny face was nestled against Irving Stanley’s fatherly bosom, where it lay for hours, until Adah, waking from her refreshing slumber, came forward to relieve him.
“You had better not go on this morning. You ought to rest,” Irving said to Adah, when at last the train stopped in Albany. “I have a few moments to spare. I will see that you are comfortable. You are going to Snowdon, I think you said,” and taking Willie in his arms he conducted Adah to the nearest hotel.
There were but a few moments ere he must leave, and standing by her side, he said, “The meeting with you has been to me a pleasant incident, and I shall not soon forget it. I trust we may meet again. There is my card,” and he placed it in her hand.
At a glance Adah read the name, knowing now who had befriended her. It was Irving Stanley, second cousin to Hugh, and ’Lina was with his sister in New York. He was going there, he might speak of her, and if she told her name, her miserable story would be known to more than it was already. It was a false pride which kept Adah silent when she knew that Irving Stanley was waiting for her to speak, and while she was struggling to overcome it, Irving’s time expired and he must go if he would not be left. Taking her hand he said good-bye, while she tried again to thank him for his great kindness to her; but she did not tell her name, and as Irving would not ask it, he left her without the knowledge, thinking of her often as he went his way to New York, and wondering if they would ever meet again.
In the office below, Dr. Richards, who had purposely stopped for the day in Albany, smoked his expensive cigars, ordered oysters and wine sent to his room—wrote an explanatory note to ’Lina—feeling half tempted to leave out the “Dear,” with which he felt constrained to preface it—thought again of Lily—thought once of the strange woman and the little boy, in whom Irving Stanley had been so interested, wondered where they were going, and who it was the boy looked a little like—thought of Anna in connection with that boy; and then, late in the afternoon, sauntered down to the Boston depot, and took his seat in the car which, at about 10 o’clock that night, would deposit him at Snowdon. There were no children to disturb him, for Adah, unconscious of his proximity, was in the rear car—weary, and nervous with the dread which her near approach to Terrace Hill inspired. What if, after all, Anna should not want her? And this was a possible contingency, notwithstanding Alice had been so sanguine.
“I can find employment somewhere—God will direct me,” she whispered softly, drawing her veil over her tired face, and thinking, she scarcely knew why, of Irving Stanley.