So far the excitement had kept Mrs. Hartley up, but after a time a
reaction set in which culminated in a wasting fever, and prostrated
the poor creature on a bed of sickness. This, though apparently
disastrous, ended happily for all. Beatrice's mother, so long as
_she_ was the object of pity, shrank from all communication with
her rich relatives, but now that her child was in need of assistance,
she flew to her with a mother's impetuosity, and anxiously watched
by her couch day and night, while the poor thing tossed and raved in
delirious paroxysms. Mr. Hartley summoned Dr. Hickson to his wife's
bedside, but that astute practitioner wisely foretold that the
magnetic influence of her mother's presence would do more for his
patient than any drugs or medicines, and, accordingly, he contented
himself by prescribing a sleeping-draught, leaving other agencies to
do their work.
In a couple of weeks Mrs. Hartley rallied, and ere long she became
convalescent, and even cheerful. She used to chat with her mother
for hours together, and the fourth week after the latter's arrival
she was able to go out for a drive accompanied by her and the baby,
who had accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Hartley in all their travels. The
little girl and her grandmother soon became great friends, and when,
Beatrice being strong enough, her mother would have returned to her
convent life, the baby's smiling face did what all persuasion had
failed to do, and bursting into tears, the aged penitent folded the
darling to her breast and declared that she would never part from it
again.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173