CHAPTER XXXVIII.
GOOD NEWS.
The two personals caught the eyes of Ailsa Scott the eighteenth day of
April, as she was tying up a bundle in a copy of _The Richmond Times_
several days old.
Her sad thoughts had been fixed on Dainty; for only to-day Miss White
had called to acquaint her with Dainty's flight.
She had also mentioned the girl's bad behavior and delicate condition,
blaming Ailsa for having recommended such a girl to her favor.
The young girl's brown eyes flashed with resentment as she answered:
"Miss White, I will not allow you to speak unkindly of my dear friend.
She was very unhappy, I know, and, to speak plainly, I suspected her
condition some time ago; but I would not wound her feelings by referring
to it, hoping that she would see fit to explain matters herself later
on. But she is a noble girl, and I have not lost confidence in her by
what you tell me, for I believe Dainty was secretly married, and that
the truth will come out some day."
"Perhaps you know where she is now? I feel very uneasy over her fate,
and am sorry now that I spoke so harshly to the poor girl in my
surprise!" exclaimed Miss White, softening under the influence of
Ailsa's loving faith.
"Sorrow will not bring her back now. You should have shown a more
Christian spirit to the unhappy girl, and perhaps she might have given
you her confidence, showing you that she was not as bad as you thought.
But I do not know where she is. You know, Miss White, I have had to
nurse the dear little children through bad colds, and have not seen
Dainty for over two weeks. Perhaps the poor girl thought I had forsaken
her, too," added Ailsa, bursting into tears.
Miss White was a weak woman, but not a cruel one. Ailsa's distress moved
her to such keen sympathy that she wept too, declaring that if only she
could find the sweet, unfortunate child she would make amends for her
unkindness.
"If you hear from her you'll let me know, Ailsa, won't you? And I shall
tell Mr. Sparks he did wrong to try to turn me against Dainty. She is a
good girl, I believe, after all, and I'll stand her friend, even after
I'm married, if she will forgive me for last night," she said, before
she went away.
Ailsa wept most bitterly, for she feared that it would be long ere she
saw Dainty's sweet face again.
"She thinks I have forsaken her, and she will be too proud to let me
know where she is," she thought.
Then came the startling discovery of the personals offering a reward for
news of Dainty Chase, and of the marriage license that had been granted
to her and Love Ellsworth.
Ailsa hunted up the back numbers of the newspapers, and found that the
personals had been running more than a week, and that they were inserted
in all the city journals.
She thought:
"Fidelio--that means faithful--so it must be some dear friend of
Dainty's that wants to find her so badly--perhaps her husband; for I am
bound to believe she was secretly married. So I will write to Fidelio,
and tell him all I know of the dear girl's fate."
On the same day, almost the same hour, a pretty, sad-faced woman at the
insane asylum in Staunton sat reading the same personals in some
newspapers the matron had given her that morning.
It was Mrs. Chase, and a great change had come over the sweet little
woman. In fact, the doctors and attendants declared that she was quite
well of her suicidal mania, and that at the next meeting of the board of
directors, on the twentieth of April, her discharge would be asked for
as a cured woman. Every one would be sorry to see her go, she was so
gentle and refined and helpful now, and the violence of her first sorrow
had subsided into patient, uncomplaining resignation.
But the strangest thing about her was that she did not seem to have a
friend in the world. No one ever came to see her or wrote to inquire how
she was. They wondered where she would go when she was discharged.
One of the new supervisors, a pale, middle-aged woman in widow's weeds,
passed through the ward when Mrs. Chase was reading the papers, and
found her weeping violently. She stopped, and asked kindly what was the
matter.
"Read these personals and I will tell you," was the sobbing reply.
The supervisor, Mrs. Middleton by name, obeyed, and cried out in
surprise:
"How very, very strange!"
"Is it not?" cried Mrs. Chase, pathetically. "You see, that girl, Dainty
Chase, is my own child. I went crazy about her, they say; but between
you and me, Mrs. Middleton, I don't believe I ever was really insane,
you know, only just wild and hysterical over my lost child, fearing her
cruel enemies had killed her, and if only they had not shut me up in
this place, I believe I should have found her long ago. If you had time
to listen, I would like to tell you my whole sad story."
"I will take time, for I am more deeply interested than you can possibly
guess," said the kind supervisor.
"Did you ever hear anything so sad? And is it any wonder that I
temporarily lost my mind and tried to throw away my life?" cried Mrs.
Chase; adding: "Is it not strange that the search for Dainty is being
revived now? It would almost seem as if Lovelace Ellsworth has recovered
the use of his senses."
"Perhaps the bullet in his head has been discovered by the use of that
wonderful X-ray we have been reading about in the newspapers. It must be
so, for who else could have an interest in that marriage license?"
exclaimed the supervisor, excitedly; adding: "I have something wonderful
to tell you, Mrs. Chase. I am the widow of the preacher that married
your daughter to Lovelace Ellsworth, and I have in my possession the
license and the certificate of marriage, given me by my husband to keep
until called for. And I also witnessed the marriage ceremony, peeping
through the vestry door, as Mr. Middleton said there ought really to be
one witness, although the young pair insisted not. But now you see how
important it was, for my husband died soon after, and in my grief I
forgot all about the secret marriage till recalled to memory of it by
this personal. So now I shall write to this Fidelio with my good news,
and tell him all about your case too, poor thing!"