The stranger started up—there was something awful in this childish simplicity and affection: he tried to read the inscription on the stone near—he could just make out the name of Edwin Raby. "That is not your mother's grave," he said.
"No; papa is there—mamma is here, next to him."
The man, just bent on self-destruction, with a conscience burning him to the heart's core—all concentrated in the omnipotence of his own sensations—shuddered at the tale of dereliction and misery these words conveyed; he looked earnestly on the child, and was fascinated by her angel look; she spoke with a pretty seriousness, shaking her head, her lips trembling—her large eyes shining in brimming tears. "My poor child," he said, "your name is Raby then?"
"Mamma used to call me Baby," she replied; "they call me Missy at home—my name is Elizabeth."
"Well, dear Elizabeth, let me take you home; you cannot stay all night with mamma."
"Oh, no; I was just going home when you frightened me."
"You must forget that; I will buy you a doll to make it up again, and all sorts of toys; see, here is a pretty thing for you!" and he took the chain of his watch, and threw it over her head; he wanted so to distract her attention as to make her forget what had passed, and not to tell a shocking story when she got home.
"But," she said, looking up into his face, "you will not be so naughty again, and sit down where mamma is lying."
The stranger promised, and kissed her; and, taking her hand, they walked together to the village; she prattled as she went, and he sometimes listened to her stories of mamma, and answered, and sometimes thought with wonder that he still lived—that the ocean's tide still broke at his feet—and the stars still shone above; he felt angry and impatient at the delay, as if it betokened a failing of purpose. They walked along the sands, and stopped at last at Mrs. Baker's door. She was standing at it, and exclaimed, "Here you are, Missy, at last! What have you been doing with yourself? I declare I was quite frightened—it is long past your bedtime."
"You must not scold her," said the stranger; "I detained her. But why do you let her go out alone? it is not right."