It was a sad house at Spring Bank that night, and only the negroes were
capable of any enjoyment. Terrified at first at what by dint of
listening they saw and heard, they assembled in the kitchen, and
together rehearsed the strange story, wondering if none of the tempting
supper prepared with so much care would be touched by the whites. If
not, they, of course, had the next best right, and when about midnight
Mrs. Worthington passed hurriedly through the dining-room, the table
gave evidence that somebody had partaken of the marriage feast, and not
very sparingly either. But she did not care, her thoughts were divided
between the distant Adah, her daughter--her own--the little brown-eyed
child she had been so proud of years ago, and the moaning, wretched girl
upstairs, 'Lina, tossing distractedly from side to side; now holding her
throbbing head, and now thrusting out her hot, dry hands, as if to keep
off some fancied form, whose hair, she said, was white as snow, and who
claimed to be her mother.
The shock had been a terrible one to 'Lina--terrible in more senses than
one. She did love Dr. Richards; and the losing him was enough of itself
to drive her mad; but worse even than this, and far more humiliating to
her pride, was the discovery of her parentage, the knowing that a
convict was her father, a common servant her mother, and that no
marriage tie had hallowed her birth.
"Oh, I can't bear it!" she cried. "I can't. I wish I might die! Will
nobody kill me? Hugh, you will, I know!"
But Hugh was away for the family physician, for he would not trust a
gossiping servant to do the errand. Once before that doctor had stood by
'Lina's bedside, and felt her feverish pulse, but his face then was not
as anxious as now. He did not speak of danger, but Hugh, who watched him
narrowly, read it in his face, and following him down the stairs, asked
to be told the truth.
"She is going to be very sick. She may get well, but I have little to
hope from symptoms like hers."
That was the doctor's reply, and with a sigh Hugh went back to the sick
girl, who had given him little else than sarcasm and scorn.