Chateau d'Or, Norah, and Kitty CraigHolmes, Mary Jane
General
Chateau d'Or, Norah, and Kitty Craig
Holmes, Mary Jane
American fiction -- 19th century; Americans -- France -- Fiction; Manners and customs -- Fiction
“Thus reassured, Anna grew more calm, and waited till the ship was fast
at the landing and the passengers free to leave. There was no officer
there, no telegram, and our party took the first train which left next
morning on the Harlem Road for Millfield. A telegram, however, had
preceded them, and the whole town was in a state of wild excitement when
it was known that Anna was coming back, and why. Up to this time but
little had been said of Fred’s departure for Europe, and though there
were surmises of something wrong, nothing definite was known until the
telegram was received, when the story came out and set the town on fire.
Everybody told everybody else, so that long before the train was due the
history of Anna’s life in France had been told a thousand times, and had
Ernest Haverleigh then appeared in the streets he would assuredly have
been torn in pieces by the crowd which surged toward the depot long
before the train was due. Everybody was there; those who had known Anna
in her girlhood and those who had not, the new-comers who only knew her
story and waited for a glimpse of her. Oh, how white, and frightened,
and wild she looked when at last she came and stepped upon the platform.
Fred’s arm was around her, and behind her came Madame Verwest, carrying
the child, which slept soundly all through the exciting scene.
“‘Mother—where’s mother?’ the pallid lips asked as Anna’s feet touched
the ground, and then her mother’s arms were round her, and the tired
head dropped on the maternal bosom with a low pitiful cry, and it was
whispered in the crowd that she had fainted.
They took her home to the low red house, and laid her in the little room
she used to occupy, and which she once had so despised. It seemed like
heaven to her now, as she sank down among the snowy pillows, and felt
the sweet breath of the summer air, laden with the perfume of the
new-mown hay, and the lilies of which she had talked so much to Madame
Verwest.
“‘Oh, mother, Mary, I am so glad,’ she said, as she saw them bending
over her, and felt that she was safe. ‘No one can get me here. You’ll
never let me go, for he will come after me; he is coming now,’ and with
a shudder she drew the sheet over her face as if to hide herself from
the dreaded husband coming to take her away.
“After that Anna knew no more of what was passing about her for days,
and even weeks. Nature had borne all it could, and she lay almost
motionless, and utterly unconscious of everything. But never sure was
queen tended with more care than she for whom everybody cared, and whose
room was filled with tokens of remembrance, flowers and fruit, and such
masses of white lilies, for these had been her favorites, and every
school-boy in town considered it an honor to wade into the pond,
knee-deep, and even imperil his life to secure the fragrant blossoms.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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