I have been your sister for twenty-five years, and you have only
now, for the first time, called me so!"
"Listen--sister," returned Mrs. Carteret. Was there no way to move this
woman? Her child lay dying, if he were not dead already. She would tell
everything, and leave the rest to God. If it would save her child, she
would shrink at no sacrifice. Whether the truth would still further
incense Janet, or move her to mercy, she could not tell; she would leave
the issue to God.
"Listen, sister!" she said. "I have a confession to make. You are my
lawful sister. My father was married to your mother. You are entitled to
his name, and to half his estate."
Janet's eyes flashed with bitter scorn.
"And you have robbed me all these years, and now tell me that as a
reason why I should forgive the murder of my child?"
"No, no!" cried the other wildly, fearing the worst. "I have known of it
only a few weeks,--since my Aunt Polly's death. I had not meant to rob
you,--I had meant to make restitution. Sister! for our father's sake,
who did you no wrong, give me my child's life!"
Janet's eyes slowly filled with tears--bitter tears--burning tears. For
a moment even her grief at her child's loss dropped to second place in
her thoughts. This, then, was the recognition for which, all her life,
she had longed in secret. It had come, after many days, and in larger
measure than she had dreamed; but it had come, not with frank kindliness
and sisterly love, but in a storm of blood and tears; not freely given,
from an open heart, but extorted from a reluctant conscience by the
agony of a mother's fears.
Pages:
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336