Maude's chamber was ready at last, and very inviting it looked with its coat of fresh paint, its cheerful paper, bright carpet, handsome bedstead, marble washstand, and mahogany bureau, on which were arranged various little articles for the toilet. The few pieces of furniture which Mrs. Kennedy had ordered from the cabinet-maker's had amounted, in all, to nearly one hundred dollars, but the bill was not yet sent in; and in blissful ignorance of the surprise awaiting him the doctor rubbed his hands and tried to seem pleased when his wife, passing her arm in his, led him to the room, which she compelled him to admire.
"It was all very nice," he said, "but wholly unnecessary for a blind girl. What was the price of this?" he asked, laying his hand upon the bedstead.
"Only twenty-five dollars. Wasn't it cheap?" and the wicked black eyes danced with merriment at the loud groan which succeeded the answer.
"Twenty-five dollars!" he exclaimed. "Why, the bedstead Matty and I slept on for seven years only cost three, and it is now as good as new."
"But times have changed," said the lady. "Everybody has nicer things; besides, do you know people used to talk dreadfully about a man of your standing being so stingy? But I have done considerable toward correcting that impression. You aint stingy, and in proof of it you'll give me fifty cents to buy cologne for this." And she took up a beautiful bottle which stood upon the bureau.
The doctor had not fifty cents in change, but a dollar bill would suit her exactly as well, she said, and secretly exulting in her mastery over the self-willed tyrant, she suffered him to depart, saying to himself as he descended the stair, "Twenty-five dollars for one bedstead. I won't stand it! I'll do something!"
"What are you saying, dear?" a melodious voice called after him, and so accelerated his movements that the extremity of his coat disappeared from view, just as the lady Maude reached the head of the stairs.
"Oh!" was the involuntary exclamation of Louis, who had been a spectator of the scene, and who felt intuitively that his father had found his mistress.
During her few weeks residence at Laurel Hill Maude Glendower had bound the crippled boy to herself by many a deed of love, and whatever she did was sure of meeting his approval. With him she had consulted concerning his sister's room, yielding often to his artist taste in the arrangement of the furniture, and now that the chamber was ready they both awaited impatiently the arrival of its occupant.
Nellie's last letter had been rather encouraging, and Maude herself had appended her name at its close. The writing was tremulous and uncertain, but it brought hope to the heart of the brother, who had never really believed it possible for his sister to be blind. Very restless he seemed on the day when she was expected; and when, just as the sun was setting, the carriage drove to the gate, a faint sickness crept over him, and wheeling his chair to the window of her room he looked anxiously at her, as with John's assistance, she alighted from the carriage.
"If she walks alone I shall know she is not very blind," he said, and with clasped hands he watched her intently as she came slowly toward the house with Nellie a little in advance.
Nearer and nearer she came--closer and closer the burning forehead was pressed against the window pane, and hope beat high in Louis' heart, when suddenly she turned aside--her foot rested on the withered violets which grew outside the walk, and her hand groped in the empty air.
"She's blind--she's blind," said Louis, and with a moaning cry he laid his head upon the broad arm of his chair, sobbing most bitterly.
Meantime below there was a strange interview between the new mother and her children, Maude Glendower clasping her namesake in her arms and weeping over her as she had never wept before but once, and that when the moonlight shone upon her sitting by a distant grave.
Pushing back the clustering curls, she kissed the open brow and looked into the soft black eyes with a burning gaze which penetrated the shadowy darkness and brought a flush to the cheek of the young girl.
"Maude Remington! Maude Remington!" she said, dwelling long upon the latter name, "the sight of you affects me painfully; you are so like one I have lost. I shall love you, Maude Remington, for the sake of the dead, and you, too, must love me, and call me mother--will you?" and her lips again touched those of the astonished maiden.
Though fading fast, the light was not yet quenched in Maude's eyes, and very wistfully she scanned the face of the speaker, while her hands moved caressingly over each feature, as she said, "I will love you, beautiful lady, though you can never be to me what my gentle mother was."
At the sound of that voice Maude Glendower started suddenly, and turning aside, so her words could not be heard, she murmured sadly, "Both father and child prefer her to me." Then, recollecting herself, she offered her hand to the wondering Nellie, saying, "Your Sister's misfortune must be my excuse for devoting so much time to her, when you, as my eldest daughter, were entitled to my first attention."
Her stepmother's evident preference for Maude had greatly offended the selfish Nellie, who coldly answered, "Don't trouble yourself, madam. It's not of the least consequence. But where is my father? He will welcome me, I am sure."
The feeling too often existing between stepmothers and stepdaughters had sprung into life, and henceforth the intercourse of Maude Glendower and Nellie Kennedy would be marked with studied politeness, and nothing more. But the former did not care. So long as her eye could feast itself upon the face and form of Maude Remington she was content, and as Nellie left the room she wound her arm around the comparatively helpless girl, saying, "Let me take you to your brother."
