CHAPTER II. THE ADOPTED CHILD. Here to the houseless child of want, HURRYING towards the nearest hackney coach stand, the three individuals who had thus escaped from the melee in the tap room of St. Giles', stepped into a vehicle, and the driver turned his horses' heads towards the west part of the town, and after threading patiently a labyrinth of streets, the vehicle drew up at last before a splendid mansion, in what was then the west end of London, but which has since, by the continued growth of the great city, become very nearly or quite its centre. Alighting, the party entered one of the princely abodes before them. The servant who opened the door at their summons, stepped back in astonishment for a moment, but on meeting the eye of the eldest of the two gentlemen, he bowed respectfully, and appearing to have recovered from his surprise, at once ushered them into the grand reception room of the house. Both seemed to be at home here; the eldest throwing himself carelessly into a richly covered and cushioned chair, exclaimed with a sigh, that showed how intense his excitement had been through all this strange business, although from the very first he had appeared so calm and collected: GOLDSMITH. miscreants," said the younger of the two, rubbing a slight bruise on his arm. "I could hardly believe that you overcame them so easily, although it was before my very eyes; but you struck like a sledge hammer." "It is all practice, Walter," said the other, smiling; "when I was a young man, I frequently performed harder feats than this has proved, on a simple bet, and without this neat bit of an Indian weapon either. You know I am considered to be very strong." "I shall never doubt it after what I have seen to-night." "Sit down, Edith," said the gentleman kindly, to the girl, who had up to this time remained standing, but who did not seem to hear the words addressed to her. "She does not hear you," said the other, observing her with interest. Nor did the poor girl hear him who had addressed her, for she was looking about her with much the same wonder that Aladdin might have felt when he saw the enchanted palace rise at his command from the bosom of the water. Her eyes were gazing from the rich soft carpet beneath her feet, to the gorgeously stuccoed ceiling above her head, at the glitter-, ing and brilliant chandelier that was pendant from the ceiling, and at the splendid array of "It is over indeed with some of those poor paintings, covering the walls in all directions, "Thank God, that business is now well over, and all are safe." and finally at every article of ornament or use with which the apartment was thronged. If possible, she looked still more deeply interesting to them now than when they had seen her remarkable beauty amid all the vulgar surroundings of the tap room, "Adorned with all the simple charm And unbought grace of nature." Her coarsely-made dress was so at variance with the proud elegance about her, that the contrast was scarcely less marked than when they had first met her that night and compared her beauty with her situation. Her hands. were clasped together now and raised even with her breast, while the expression of her sweet face seemed to say, "Is it possible that there is so much beauty and elegance as this upon the earth?" Poor child! She had probably never been beyond the boundaries of George's-in-the-field, nor perhaps, judging by her present surprise and curiosity, had she ever before stood upon a carpeted floor. "Wont you sit down, Edith?" asked the eldest of the gentlemen, in a kind tone of voice, after marking her amazement with undisguised interest for more than a minute. "Did you speak, sir?" she asked, timidly, and as though awaking from a deep reverie, and turning her large blue eyes upon him who addressed her. "Yes, my good girl, wont you sit down?" he repeated. "O, thank you, sir, not here," replied the poor child, shrinking quickly back, as though she thought it would be sacrilege for her to touch aught that she saw. Nay, my good girl, come hither to me," said the gentleman in the kindest tones, as he drew a seat by his side; "this is to be your future home." My home!" repeated Edith, looking first at the gentleman and then about her; "Did you say that this is to be my home, sir ?" "Ay, my good Edith, thy home, and I will be thy father." My father!" said Edith, with a sigh that heaved her bosom audibly. "" "Yes, Edith." Her eyes sought the floor thoughtfully. She seemed in an instant to forget all the splendor about her, and to be looking deep within her own breast at some passing thought, that had cast its shadow across her soul.Walter, as the elder gentleman had called his companion, exhibited the while scarcely less surprise and interest as he gazed upon the young girl, than did she herself at the sights that met her eye. Never had he seen a being that looked so lovely to him as did that or phan child; and as she stood thus, with her head half reclining upon her breast, gazing upon the floor, Walter turned to the elder gentleman and said with enthusiasm: "What an attitude for a painter! Mark you, sir, how beautiful this poor girl is? No wonder that even a casual sight of her in the street, should have resolved you to rescue so bright a jewel from the filthy den where we found her this night." "You are enthusiastic, Walter," said the other, smiling at his zeal. "Who would not be enthusiastic with such beauty to prompt him?" "She is very beautiful," said the elder gentleman, gazing in silence for a moment. "Edith ?" "Sir," said the child, arousing from her secret thoughts. "Do you remember," asked the eldest of the two gentlemen, "of meeting me a few days since in the street, near where you lived, and that I spoke to you then about your manner of living, and some other matters? I was not in this dress, to be sure." "I do remember of a person's speaking to me, but he wore the frock of a butcher." "It was I. I asked you if you would like to leave the rude people with whom you lived and go to a comfortable home. Do you remember you said you would ?" "Yes, I recollect you now." "And I told you I should inquire about you, if you were a good girl?" "Yes, sir, but—" "But what, Edith? Speak out freely, don't let there be any secrets between us." "What made you choose me, sir, to bring to your house?" she asked, timidly. "There was something in your face, Edith, that reminded me," said the gentleman, "of a dearly loved sister, one who died when scarcely older than you are now. She was my constant playmate and dearest friend, and our parting at the time seemed like to break my heart. When I saw you I resolved for her memory's sake, if you were parentless, as I shrewdly suspected, that I would adopt and cherish you as my own child, that I might have ever near me one who should constantly remind me of her who was taken from me by death years ago." manifested in his general bearing and disposition, to allow of such a conclusion as that.— He raised the young girl from the floor and kindly parting the soft hair from her forehead, touched a bell at his side for a servant. Walter was much younger in years and The child seemed pleased at the explanation experience, his heart was more impressible, which she heard. his feelings more impetuous than those of his late companion in the night's adventure; and his eyes were now full to overflowing as he gazed upon the scene before him. Edith looked towards him as he sat thus, and seeming suddenly to recollect herself, started up and walking quickly towards him, said in the most innocent and unaffected manner: "I ought to thank you too, sir, for bringing me safely away from that place. It was very kind of you, sir. You were hit by a blow that was meant for me. I saw you raise your arm to keep it from my body. It must have hurt you-I know it must." "Not at all, my dear-" he was going to say "child," but Edith was so nearly ap "Commence by drying those tears," said proached to womanhood in her beauty of face the gentleman, pleasantly. "Can I stay here?" "Of course you can. I tell you it shall be your home for the future." "But those people will take me away from here," said the girl, almost trembling at the thought of returning to the tap room, which seemed to chill her very blood. "No fear of that, my good girl." "But they are very cunning, sir, and can do almost anything they wish." "You need not fear for your safety here, Edith," said her patron; "I will place you as far above their reach as though you were a princess of the royal household. Besides, you saw how easily I managed them to-night, did you not?" "O, yes, I know you are very brave and strong, but you really will not let me go back to that place again?" she said, imploringly. "No, my good girl, never. You need have no fear of that." and form, that he hesitated for a moment in his speech, and then said, "O, my dear girl, it was a mere scratch that I received; had the villain harmed you, I would have shot him through the heart." "Ah! who has raised up for me such good friends?" said the girl, looking from one to the other; "I am very, very grateful." "Thomas," said the gentleman to the servant who answered his bell. "Sir." "Send Mrs. Marlow to me immediately." "Yes, sir." The man bowed low and disappeared on his errand, as directed. In a few moments an elderly female appeared, with a bunch of keys at her waist, and bearing in her general appearance the tokens and characteristics of a housekeeper. She courtseyed respectfully, and requested to know the commands of the elder gentleman, who was evidently the master of the house. "Heaven bless you, sir," said the poor child, At the same time she gazed with undisguised kneeling by his side. No emotion was visible in the face of him whom the child addressed. His feelings seemed to be under the most thorough and perfect control, and yet it was not from hardheartedness, for true feeling was too strongly amazement, curiosity and wonder at Edith, who stood there in her coarse dress, and to the housekeeper's eye appearing so very queerly. "Mrs. Marlow, this young lady is Miss Edith." The housekeeper looked puzzled, but re- | highest privileges. But her master, she knew mained silent. "This is my adopted child, and is to be treated in every particular with the full attention and respect that such a relationship claims from you and all that are in this house." very well, was not a person to have his orders called in question, had she felt inclined to do so, though the fact was, the housekeeper's sympathies were at once enlisted in Edith's behalf. She had a liberal and truly Christian heart, and the sight of poverty or misery in "Yes, sir," said the housekeeper, stealing any form would excite her commiseration, but a glance at the child. when enforced by such gentle innocence and beauty as in Edith's case, she was devoted to its alleviation. "I wish particularly that you should exert yourself to render her as comfortable and happy as is possible to make her under my roof. See that she has fitting clothes at once, and every necessary article that may suggest itself. You understand me, Mrs. Marlow?" "I believe I do, sir,” replied the good natured looking housekeeper. Edith, as she followed the housekeeper, seemed to feel that she was her friend at once. If the poor girl had been surprised at the elegance and richness that met her view in the reception room, how much more was she astonished at the luxury of the chamber that "And, Mrs. Marlow, first see that she has she was told was designed for her. The desome proper refreshments." "I will, sir." lightful and invigorating sensation of the warm bath, the profuseness of linen, the al "And order a warm bath into the north most miraculous cleanliness of everything chamber; that will be hers." "Yes, sir." around her, the lofty tented bedstead with its silken curtains, and everything in a style of "In short, Mrs. Marlow, I entrust her to luxury to correspond. Edith closed her eyes you," said her master, with emphasis. "Edith," he continued, "you will go to Mrs. Marlow for everything you may desire. It will be her chief duty to render you comfortable and happy, and if there be aught, however simple, that is unpleasant to you or that in any way mars your peace of mind, then, Edith, I wish you to come always to me. And now good night, my child, and pleasant dreams to your pillow." "Good night, sir," said Edith, her young bosom heaving quickly with the host of strange and new emotions that filled it, and then turning to Walter she courtseyed with a natural grace and sweetness of manner, and wishing him also a "good night," disappeared with the housekeeeper. Impressed by the directions which she had received, Mrs. Marlow rather sought to fulfil them than to importune Edith as it regarded herself. Indeed the housekeeper was too well bred to appear inquisitive, and thus the poor girl escaped the catechising that she might have experienced, had her new acquaintance been less considerate and more of a gossip. Mrs. Marlow was, of course, exercised by no small degree of wonder and curiosity to find a poor destitute girl thus brought into the house, and at once admitted to its for a moment, and recalled her old bed of straw in the vile home she had left, and then opening them again, would look afresh upon the display of taste and wealth that surrounded her on all sides. Mrs. Marlow was an exception to most housekeepers, having by some chance been born with a heart. A simple thing, to be sure, and something that persons in her capacity frequently look upon as quite a superfluity, and, therefore, rarely call it into use. She neither delighted in scolding the butler and head cook, nor in rendering the chambermaids as completely miserable as possible, nor was her tongue one of that sort that have eclipsed all modern approaches to perpetual motion. In a word, Mrs. Marlow was a very pattern of what a housekeeper should bequiet, industrious and inclined to promote her own happiness by rendering all about her pleasant and agreeable. As to the task that had just been set her by the master of the house, she seemed to be delighted with it, and was never tired of answering the multitude of questions that Edith, in her curiosity, addressed to her; nor of instructing her in the use of everything she beheld. Appreciating this kindness, Edith felt quite at home, and when she had got fairly ready to retire, she threw her arms about the housekeeper's neck and kissed her so affectionately and with such an honest impulse, that Mrs. Marlow declared she could not help loving her tenderly and at once. The good woman stole quietly in a number of times, after her charge had fallen asleep, to mark her breathing and assure herself that all was as it should be. Edith slept long and sweetly; her dreams were of the happiest kind, induced by the physical comforts she had realized before retiring; nor did she awake until the housekeeper attended her with a cup of coffee and a hot roll at the bedside. How refreshed she was! She never remembered having enjoyed such rest before. How bright her eyes looked, and how heartily she laughed at Mrs. Marlow to think that she would have her eat her breakfast before rising. But she required little urging to persuade her, for the coffee was made by Mrs. Marlow's own hands, and such as she had never tasted before, and the bread was fresh and so white and light. The butter, too, was so sweet, the cream so thick and rich, and indeed everything seemed to the simple girl, in her innocence and inexperience, like a miracle. "You have slept long and soundly, and look very much refreshed," said the housekeeper. "O, I am so rested and refreshed," said Edith, "but what time is it?" "Nearly one o'clock," said Mrs. Marlow, consulting her watch. "Nearly one!" exclaimed the child, in astonishment. "Yes, a quarter to one." "O, it is not luncheon time yet," said Mrs. Marlow. "Is it possible I have slept half the day?" she asked, in amazement. "O, yes," said Edith, "I can dress me in one minute, I'm sure." "Nay, my dear, it will require half an hour for me to dress that pretty hair of yours alone," said Mrs. Marlow, kindly. O, no, no. See "You dress my hair? how quickly I can braid it up.” Yes, my dear, but I want to do it a la mode," said the housekeeper. "What's that?" asked Edith, curiously, wondering what Mrs. Marlow meant. "I mean to dress it fashionably, my dear," said Mrs. Marlow, smiling. "O, fashionably? Well, you shall do as you please; but it is too bad for you to have such a trouble just about my hair," said Edith. "I have nothing else to do, my dear; so sit by the glass here, and I will dress it." The child obeyed, still wondering why so nice a woman as Mrs. Marlow should think that she must take the trouble to dress her hair. The housekeeper, smiling at the simple notions the child entertained in relation to the matter of the toilet, soon explained to Edith that it was his wish for her to do so, and that she must learn to dress and appear very different from what she had done heretofore, and untwisting her soft and luxuriant hair, the good woman braided the rich tresses and plaited them so neatly and becomingly, that when Edith looked into the glass, she exclaimed with delight, and declared that Mrs. Marlow must be a witch, though a dear good one. When the young girl met her two friends at table, what a metamorphosis had taken place in her personal appearance! She was dressed in pure white muslin, supplied by the good Mrs. Marlow. Her hair was so smooth and becoming, her long and refreshing sleep and the effect of the grateful bath she had enjoyed, added to the cheerfulness that was prompting her overflowing heart, had all to-. gether set a soft and sweetly appropriate carnation in her fair cheek that was not there before. She came so artless and happy to "You were very much fatigued, Edith," said the housekeeper, "and my directions were not to permit you to be disturbed at any rate." "Indeed, you are all very kind to me," said take the hands of both and look such wealth Edith, thoughtfully. "It is a very good hour," continued the housekeeper. "We do not lunch until two, of gladness and thankful joy from her soft blue eyes, that Walter turned to his elder companion in silent admiration. |