“No, madam, not altogether. Had you two
white ponies at the time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was there a mulberry tree in the garden?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the astonished lady.
“Will you do me the favour to describe the appearance
of your child as she was, at the time that you lost
her?”
“She was—but all mothers are partial,
and perhaps I may also be so—a very fair,
lovely little girl.”
“With light hair, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. But why these questions?
Surely you cannot ask them for nothing,” continued
she hurriedly. “Tell me, sir, why all these
questions?”
Mr Masterton replied, “Because, madam, we have
some hopes that you have been deceived, and that it
is possible that your daughter was not drowned.”
Lady de Clare, breathless, and her mouth open, fixed
her eyes upon Mr Masterton, and exclaimed, “Not
drowned! O my God! my head!” and then she
fell back insensible.
“I have been too precipitate,” said Mr
Masterton, going to her assistance; “but joy
does not kill. Ring for some water, Japhet.”
In which, if the reader
does not sympathise with the parties, he
had better shut the
book.
In a few minutes Lady de Clare was sufficiently recovered
to hear the outline of our history; and as soon as
it was over, she insisted upon immediately going with
us to the school where Fleta was domiciled, as she
could ascertain, by several marks known but to a nurse
or mother, if more evidence was required, whether
Fleta was her child or not. To allow her to remain
in such a state of anxiety was impossible, Mr Masterton
agreed, and we posted to ——, where
we arrived in the evening. “Now, gentlemen,
leave me but one minute with the child, and when I
ring the bell, you may enter.” Lady de Clare
was in so nervous and agitated a state, that she could
not walk into the parlour without assistance.
We led her to a chair, and in a minute Fleta was called
down. Perceiving me in the passage, she ran to
me. “Stop, my dear Fleta, there is a lady
in the parlour, who wishes to see you.”
“A lady, Japhet?”
“Yes, my dear, go in.”
Fleta obeyed, and in a minute we heard a scream, and
Fleta hastily opened the door, “Quick! quick!
the lady has fallen down.”
We ran in and found Lady de Clare on the floor, and
it was some time before she returned to her senses.
As soon as she did, she fell down on her knees, holding
up her hands as in prayer, and then stretched her
arms out to Fleta. “My child! my long-lost
child! it is—it is indeed!” A flood
of tears poured forth on Fleta’s neck relieved
her, and we then left them together; old Masterton
observing, as we took our seats in the back parlour,
“By G—, Japhet, you deserve to find
your own father!”
In about an hour Lady de Clare requested to see us.
Fleta rushed into my arms and sobbed, while her mother
apologised to Mr Masterton for the delay and excusable
neglect towards him. “Mr Newland, madam,
is the person to whom you are indebted for your present
happiness. I will now, if you please, take my
leave, and will call upon you to-morrow.”
