“Don’t insult me by calling me Mrs. Grey. That name has been a curse to me from the moment I bore it. Call me Laura, or nothing!”
“Well, then, Laura, can I do anything to make you better?” Magdalen said, and the woman replied, “Yes, stay with me always, and sing as you did last night when I thought the angels called me; and put your hand on my head;—feel how hot it is. There is a lost baby’s soul in there, burning up for my sin.”
She carried Magdalen’s hand to her forehead, which was hot with fever and excitement, and Magdalen could feel the blood throbbing through the swollen veins.
“Poor Laura,” she said, “poor, sick woman! I am so sorry for you. I would have come before if I had known you wanted me.”
“Yes but don’t waste time in words. I’ve had a plenty of those all my life. Sing! sing! sing!—that is what I want,” interrupted the crazy woman, and sitting on the bed, with the hot hand grasping hers, Magdalen tried to think what she could sing that would soothe her excited patient.
There was a trembling in her joints and a choking sensation in her throat which seemed to preclude the possibility of her singing, but she made a great effort to control herself, and at last began the beautiful hymn, “Peace, troubled soul,” her voice growing in steadiness and sweetness and volume as she saw the effect it had upon poor Laura, whose eyes grew soft and gentle, and finally filled with tears, which rolled in great drops down her sunken cheeks.
Mrs. Jenks had relaxed her vigilance now, and Laura lay perfectly still, listening with rapt attention to the song, and keeping her eyes fixed upon Magdalen’s face, as if there were some spell to hold them there.
“Who are you?” she asked, when the song had ceased. “Where did you come from and what is your name?”
“I came to live with Alice. You know Alice,” Magdalen said,—“she is your daughter.”
“Yes, one of them; but not that one, over there in the cradle. Please give it a little jog. I can’t have my baby waking up and crying, for that disturbs Arthur, and he might send it away to goat’s milk and a wet nurse. Give it a jog, please.”