It was not until Harriet went to her and touched her, that she rose up, and came.
Mother,' said Alice, taking the hand again, and fixing her lustrous eyes lovingly upon her visitor, while she merely addressed a motion of her finger to the old woman, 'tell her what you know.' 'To-night, my deary?' 'Ay, mother,' answered Alice, faintly and solemnly, 'to-night!' The old woman, whose wits appeared disorderly by alarm, remorse, or grief, came creeping along the side of the bed, opposite to that on which Harriet sat; and kneeling down, so as to bring her withered face upon a level with the coverlet, and stretching out her hand, so as to touch her daughter's arm, began: 'My handsome gal - ' Heaven, what a cry was that, with which she stopped there, gazing at the poor form lying on the bed! 'Changed, long ago, mother! Withered, long ago,' said Alice, without looking at her.
Don't grieve for that now.
My daughter,' faltered the old woman, 'my gal who'll soon get better, and shame 'em all with her good looks.' Alice smiled mournfully at Harriet, and fondled her hand a little closer, but said nothing.
Who'll soon get better, I say,' repeated the old woman, menacing the vacant air with her shrivelled fist, 'and who'll shame 'em all with her good looks - she will.
I say she will! she shall!' - as if she were in passionate contention with some unseen opponent at the bedside, who contradicted her - 'my daughter has been turned away from, and cast out, but she could boast relationship to proud folks too, if she chose.
Ah! To proud folks! There's relationship without your clergy and your wedding rings - they may make it, but they can't break it - and my daughter's well related.
