"
"The child shall come to you, Miss Monfort, whenever you wish," said
Mrs. Clayton, with ill-disguised eagerness. "This woman is not the
proper person to apply to, however, and it is natural you should feel
concerned about it, now that you are able to think and feel again. You
know, of course, it is the boy of the wreck."
"Yes, very natural. Its mother died in my arms, if I am not mistaken in
the identity of the child; and fortunately--" I paused here, arrested by
some strange instinct of prudence, and decided not to show further
interest in his fate.
He might be inquired for, and traced even, I reflected, and thus my own
existence be brought to light. Selfishly, as well as charitably, would I
cherish him. Little children had ever been a passion with me, but this
poor, repulsive thing was the "_dernier ressort_ of desolation."
That very evening I heard the husky and guttural voice of Dr. Englehart
in the adjoining chamber, or rather in the closet of Mrs. Clayton, a
mere anteroom originally, as it seemed, to the large apartment I
occupied.
It was very natural that in her ill condition my dragon should seek
medical aid, and I paid no further attention to the propinquity of this
unpleasant visitor than I could help--sitting quietly by my shaded lamp,
absorbed in the Psalter, in which I found nightly refuge.
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