The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1893-11-05

! had ever seen before, very much agitated,
| with a gray and worn face, which got
! cruelty red by moments, looking i'll, tired,
| miserable Poor LADY, and in deep
mourning, which was no doubt the cause
| of her trouble, and a heavy Grape veil
| hanging over her face. She gave little
] cry at the sight of Dora, and Clasped her
| hands. The gesture caused her veil TO
| descend like a cloud, completely conceal
! ing her face.
Il beg your pardon indeed I did not
! know there was anybody here"
Miss Bethune made her sign to be
silent, and laid her hand upon her visitor
arm, who was TREMENDOUSLY putting up her
veil in the same dangerous overhanging
position as before.
This is Dora@-as you must have
guessed, " she said.
The lady began to cry, feebly sobbing,
as if she could not restrain herself. Il
saw it was-I saw ii was she said.
Dora, come here's said Miss Bethune
''This lady is-a relation of your-a rela-
ton of-yOur poor mamma"
The lady sObbed, and held out her
hands. Dora was not altogether pleased
with her appearance. She might have
cried at home, the girl thought. When
you got out topay a cali, or even to make
inquiries, you should make them and not
cry, and there was something that was
ridiculous in the position of the veil,
ready to tOpple over in its heavy folds of
Grape. She watched it to see when the
moment would come.
"Why nv poor mammal" said Dora,
perhaps not very nicely. rs it because
mother is deadi"
"There are enough Of reasons, " Miss
Bethune said hastily.
Dora flung back her head with snd-
den resistance and defiance. Il don't
trf1OrNr a hp11f mot hpr Shn has hoap
ever since l remember; but she was my
mother, and nobody has any right tie be
sorry for her, as though that were a mis-
fortune"
She is little preverse thing" said
Miss Bethuse, but she has great spirit.
Dora, come here. l will go and see about
your papa's beef-tea, while you come and
speak TO this lady" She stopped over
the girl for a moment as she passed her
going out. And be kind, " she whispered;
"for she's very ILL., poor thing. and very
broken. Be merciful in your strength
and in your youth"
Dora could not tell what this might
mean. Mercifull She, who was still
only a child, and, to her own conscious
ness, ordered about by everybody, and
made nothing of. The stranger sat on
the sofa, trembling and sobbing, her face
of sallOw paleness, her eyes half ex-
the Grape hanging over her made the faded
countenance appearas if looking out of a
cave.
Il am afraid you are not at all well, "
said Dora, drawing slowly near
mo, am not at all well. Come here
and sit by me, will you? 1 am dying, l
think. y ..I
oh, no" said Dora, with half hor-
ror, half pity, DO not say that"
L. II. sfT
should not mind, if perhaps it made peo-
pie little forgiving-a little indulgent.
Oh, Dora, my child, is it you, really you
at last2'
Dora suffered her hand to be taken, suf-
fered herself to be drawn close, and
tremulous kiss pressed upon her cheek.
She did not know how to respond. She
felt herself entangled in the great Grape
veil, and her face wet with the others
tears. She herself was touched by pity,
but by a little cOntrariety as we'll, and OBJ
lection to this sudden and intimate en-
brace.
II am very, very sorry if you are i'll, 8"
she said, disengaging herself as gently as
possible. MY father has been very ill,
so l know about it now; but l don't know
you"
my darling" the poor lady SAID.
'My darling, my little child my Dora,
that | have thought and dreamed of night
and day."
Dora was more than ever confused.
But l don't know you at ALL" she
said.
mo, that is what is most dreadful
not a all, not at all!-I am dying for the
sight of you, and to hold you in my arms
, once before l die
She held the girl with her trembling
arms. and the two faces, all entangled
nd !, 20 40 Nv
veil, looked into each other so profound
| ly unlike, not line IL either which re
| called or seemed to connect with the
| other Dora was COMPOUNDED and abashed
| by the close contact and her absolute in
| capacity to respond to this enthusiasm
| She put up her hands, which was the only
| thing that occurred to her, and threw
! quite back with a subdued yet energetic
movement that confusing veil. She was
| conscious of performing this act very
! quietly, but to the stranger the quiet, soft
| movement was like energy and strength
| impersonihed
oh Dora, " she said, ''you are not like
me-. l never was so lively, so strong as
| you are. l think | must have been a poor
| creature, always depending upon some
body. You could never be like that"
81 don't know" said Dora. Ought l
to have been like youl Are we such near
| relations as that2n
Just as near as-almost as near as
Oh, child, how have longed for you, and
| thought of YOU! You have never, never
been out of my mind-not n day. Dora.
scarcely an hour. On, if you only knew ~
You must then have been very fond of
| my mother Dora said little stiffly.
| She might have been less cold had this
| enthusiasm been less great.
Your MOTHER the stranger said She
broke out into audible weeping again, af-
ter comparative composure. ooh, yes, /
suppose was-oh, yes, suppose l was, "
she said.
You only suppose you were. and vet
you are so fond as this of me2-which can
be only said Dora, severely logical, for
her sake"
The poor lady trembled, and was still
| for moment, then she said, falteriug,
We were so close together, she and l.
We were like one. But child is differ
ent-you are here and yourself too. But
yov are so young, my dearest, my dearest.
You will not understand that"
Il understand it partly" said Dora
but it is 50 strange that never heard of
you. Were my mothers relations against
my father You must forgive me-" the
girl said, withdrawing herself a little,
sitting very upright; but father, YOU
know, has been everything to me. Father
and | are one. | should like very much to
hear about mamma, who must have died
so long ago; but my first thought must al
! ways be for father. who has been every