Mrs. Hallam's companion; and The Spring Farm, and other tales

by Mary Jane Holmes

The next day there were many visitors at the Park, mostly strangers to Mildred, although a few of them had been known to her in childhood, but like Hugh, they saw no resemblance in her to the “oldest Leach girl,” as she was called by the neighbors who remembered her. Of the bride there was but one verdict, “The most elegant and agreeable woman that has ever been in Rocky Point,” was said of her by all, for Mildred, while bearing herself like a princess, was so gracious and friendly that she took every heart by storm.

It was late in the day when Bessie started to make her call with Tom. Dinner was over and Mildred, who, with her husband and Gerard and Alice, was sitting upon the piazza, saw them as they turned an angle in the shrubbery and came up the avenue.

“Oh, there’s Bessie,” Allie cried, springing to her feet, while Mildred’s heart began to beat wildly as she glanced at Mr. Thornton, on whose brow there was a dark frown, the first she had seen since she was his wife, and this quieted her at once, for she readily guessed its cause. She knew he had not married her family, and had begun to suspect that he meant to keep her from them as much as possible.

“But he cannot do it,” she thought, and turning to him she said in a low tone, “They are mine; my own flesh and blood, and for my sake treat them politely. It is the first favor I have asked of you.”

There was something in her eyes which made him think she might be dangerous if roused, and for aught he knew she might bring the whole family there to live, or leave him for them, and swallowing his pride, he went forward to meet his visitors with so much cordiality that Tom, who had never received the slightest civility from the great man, thought, to himself, “By Jove, she’s made him over.”

“My wife, Mrs. Thornton; Miss Leach and Mr. Leach,” Mr. Thornton said, and Mildred’s hand, cold and nerveless, was taken by a hand as white and soft as her own, while Bessie’s blue eyes looked curiously at her, and Bessie was saying the commonplace things which strangers say to each other.

“How lovely she is,” Mildred thought, hardly able to restrain herself from folding the sunny, bright-faced girl in her arms and sobbing and crying over her.

But Tom was speaking to her now, and she was conscious of a feeling of pride as she looked at the tall, handsome, manly fellow, and knew he was her brother. Tom was like his mother, and Bessie like her father, while Mildred was like neither, and one could scarcely have seen any resemblance between them as they sat talking together until the moon came up over the hill and it was time to go. Bessie had devoted herself to Mildred, who fascinated her greatly, and who had adroitly led her to talk of herself and her home and her mother. Mildred spoke of the pinks, her voice trembling as she sent her thanks and love to the blind woman whom she was soon coming to see.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Bessie exclaimed, in her impulsive way, “and mother will be glad too. She sent the pinks because they are her favorite flowers and she says they remind her of Milly, who used to love them so much; that’s my sister, who has been abroad many years. I scarcely remember her at all.”

“Oh,” came like a moan from Mildred, who felt as if a blow had struck her heart, it throbbed so painfully at the mention of her old name by the sister who did not know her, and for an instant she was tempted to scream out the truth and bring the foolish farce to an end.