Flower and Jewel; or, Daisy Forrest's DaughterMiller, Alex. McVeigh, Mrs.
Philosophy
Flower and Jewel; or, Daisy Forrest's Daughter
Miller, Alex. McVeigh, Mrs.
Gothic fiction; Mothers and daughters -- Fiction; Sisters -- Fiction
But with a brave heart, although her footsteps faltered often, she set
off from the spot, traveling as fast as her reduced strength would
permit, and taking the high-road that led away from the town and toward
the deserted cabin of the dead nurse.
It was instinct rather than intention that led her to the place; for
she had no thought of stopping there, but only of putting miles of
space between herself and Jewel, of whom she had now become horribly
afraid.
But, poor girl, starved as she had been, and in her delicate condition
of health, she had not strength enough to carry her far. Besides, she
had been tormented for several days by peculiar pains, which now became
so acute as to materially interfere with her progress.
"I can not go any further. I must lie down here in the road and die,"
she moaned, lifting her tear-wet eyes to the moonlit sky, as if
beseeching the pitying Lord to have mercy on His suffering child.
In a minute more the white-paled fence and dark grove of trees
surrounding the cabin came into view.
The sight recalled old Maria to Flower's mind, and she sighed
plaintively:
"Ah, mammy, dear, I wish you were alive yet; then I should have at
least one friend in my misery."
She stopped and leaned on the old gate. All was dark and silent, and
the long branches of the trees threw fantastic shadows on the ground
that at any other time would have awed the sensitive girl; but she was
oblivious now to everything but her pain, her weariness, and her cruel
hunger and thirst.
"There is no one here. I will go into the house and lie down on the
pretty white company-bed that mammy always kept so nice, and I will die
there. Jewel will never think of looking for me here. She knew that
I was afraid of ghosts," she murmured, as she unlatched the gate and
dragged herself up the graveled walk to the door.
She pulled the latch and found that it was not locked. There was
nothing to prevent her entering, so she groped her way in, and,
shivering and moaning, crossed the floor to the tiny room which Maria
had always kept sacred to hospitality. She fell heavily across the
little white bed, and lay there thinking desolately that death could
not be far away.
Ah, how grateful the clean, soft feather bed felt to Flower's weary,
aching limbs! She thought that if only those keen, sickening pains
would cease she could fall asleep and die thus, perhaps, in a pleasant
stupor; but the agony only grew greater, and a sudden realization of
truth forced a groan of fear from her lips.
Her travail was coming upon her, and the girl fainted outright, and lay
for some moments wrapped in a blissful unconsciousness.
* * * * *
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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