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Page 74
"What are those things, my child?"
"I have a dim remembrance of a pale, but beautiful woman who often
kissed and caressed me--of being in a sick-room--of a strange
confusion in the house--of riding in a carriage with father to a
funeral. Mother! is there any thing in this; if so, what does it
mean?"
"That woman, Fanny," said Mrs. Claire, speaking with forced composure,
"was your mother."
The face of the young girl grew instantly pale; her lips parted;
and she gasped for breath. Then falling forward on the bosom of Mrs.
Claire, she sobbed--
"Oh, mother! mother! How can you say this? It cannot, it cannot be.
You are my own, my only mother."
"You did not receive your life through me, Fanny," replied Mrs.
Claire, so soon as she could command her voice, for she too was
overcome by feeling--"but in all else I am your mother; and I love you
equally with my other children. If there has ever been a difference,
it has all been in your favour."
"Why, why did you destroy the illusion under which I have so long
rested?" said Fanny, when both were more composed. "Why tell me
a truth from which no good can flow? Why break in upon my happy
ignorance with such a chilling revelation? Oh, mother, mother! Forgive
me, if I say you have been cruel."
"Not so, my child. Believe me, that nothing but duty would have ever
driven me to this avowal. You are now at woman's legal age. You have
a guardian, in whose hands your father, at his death, left, for your
benefit, some property; and this person now desires to settle the
estate, and transfer to you what remains."
Bewildered, like one awakening from a dream, Fanny listened to
this strange announcement. And it was some time before she really
comprehended her true position.
"Not your child--a guardian--property!--What does it all mean? Am I
really awake, mother?"
"Yes, dear, you are awake. It is no dream, believe me," was the tender
reply of Mrs. Claire. "But, remember, that all this does not
diminish our love for you--does not remove you in the least from
our affections. You are still our child, bound to us by a thousand
intertwining chords."
But little more passed between them at this interview. Fanny asked
for no more particulars, and Mrs. Claire did not think it necessary to
give any further information. Fanny soon retired to her own chamber,
there to commune with her thoughts, and to seek, in tears, relief to
her oppressed feelings.
The meeting of Claire with Fanny, on his return home, was affecting.
She met him with a quivering lip and moistened eyes, and, as she
laid her cheek against his breast, murmured in a sad, yet deeply
affectionate voice--
"My father!"
"My own dear child!" quickly replied Claire, with emotion.
And then both stood for some time silent. Leading her to a seat,
Claire said tenderly--
"I have always loved you truly, and now you are dearer to me than
ever."
"My more than father," was her simple response.
"My own dear child!" said Mr. Claire, kissing her fondly. "We have
ever blessed the day on which you came to us from God."
Words would only have mocked their feelings, and so but few words
passed between them, yet how full of thoughts crowding upon thoughts
were their minds--how over-excited their hearts with new emotions of
love.
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