"No, never back again--never. I waited so long, waited till I almost

thought I heard my baby cry, and then went home; but baby was gone.

Alice, do you hear me?--baby was gone;" and the poor, mumbling creature,

rocking to and fro, buried her bony fingers in Alice's fair hair.

"Poor Densie! poor auntie!" was all Alice said, as she regarded with

horror the man, who went on: "Yes, baby was gone--gone to my mother's, in a part of the city where

there was no probability of its being found and I was gone, too. You are

shocked, fair maiden, and well you may be," the convict said.

"In course of time there was a daughter born to me and to Eliza; a sweet

little, brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, whom we named Adaline."

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Instinctively every one in that room glanced at the black eyes and hair

of 'Lina, marveling at the change.

"I loved this little girl, as it was natural I should, more than I loved

the other, whose mother was a servant. Besides that, she was not so

deeply branded as the other; see--" and pushing back the thick locks

from his forehead, he disclosed his birthmark, while 'Lina suddenly put

her hand where she knew there was another like it.

"At last there came a separation. Eliza would not live with me longer

and I went away, but pined so for my child that I contrived to steal

her, and carried her to my mother, where was the other one. 'Twas there

you tracked me, Densie. You came one day, enacting a fearful scene, and

frightening my children until they fled in terror and hid away from your

sight."

"I remember, I remember now. That's where I heard the name," 'Lina said,

while the convict continued: "I said you were a mad woman. I made mother believe it; but she never

recovered from the shock, and six weeks after your visit, I was alone

with my two girls, Densie and Adaline. I could not attend to them both,

and so I sent one to Eliza and kept the other myself, hiring a

housekeeper, and to prevent being dogged by Densie again, I passed as

Mr. Monroe Gordon, guardian to the little child whom I loved so much."

"That was Adah," fell in the whisper from the doctor's lips, but caught

the ear of no one.

All were too intent upon the story, which proceeded: "She grew, and grew in beauty, my fair, lovely child, and I was

wondrously proud of her, giving her every advantage in my power. I sent

her to the best of schools, and even looked forward to the day when she

should take the position she was so well fitted to fill. After she was

grown to girlhood we boarded, she as the ward, I as the guardian still,

and then one unlucky day I stumbled upon you, Dr. John, but not until

you had first stumbled upon my daughter, and been charmed with her

beauty, passing yourself as some one else--as George Hastings, I

believe--lest your fashionable associates should know how the

aristocratic Dr. Richards was in love with a poor, unknown orphan,

boarding up two flights of stairs."




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