Bad Hugh

In her delight at having her son restored to his reason so suddenly, so

unexpectedly, as the poor, deluded woman believed, Mrs. Worthington

forgot for a moment the pain, and clasped her arms about him, sobbing

like a child.

"Oh, my boy, I am so glad, so glad!" and her tears dropped fast, as like

a weary child, which wanted to be soothed, she laid her head upon his

bosom, crying quietly.

And Hugh, stronger now than she, held the poor, tired head there, and

kissed the white forehead, where there were more wrinkles now than when

he last observed it. His mother was growing old with care rather than

with years, and Hugh shuddered, as, for the first time in his life, he

thought how dreadful it would be to have no mother. Folding his weak

arms about her, mother and son wept together in that moment of perfect

understanding and union with each other. Hugh was the first to rally. It

seemed so pleasant to lean on him, to know that he cared so much for

her, that Mrs. Worthington would gladly have rested on his bosom longer,

but Hugh was anxious to know the worst, and brought her back to

something of the old, sad life, by asking if the letter were from 'Lina.

"Yes; I can't make it out, for one of my glasses is broken, and you know

she writes so blind."

"It never troubles me," and taking the letter from her unresisting hand,

Hugh asked that another pillow should be placed beneath his head, while

he read it aloud.

"You see that thousand is almost gone, and as board is two and a

half dollars per day, I can't stay long and shop in Broadway with

old Mrs. Richards, as I am expected to do in my capacity of

heiress. I tell you, Spring Bank, Kentucky--crazy old rat trap as

it is, has done wonders for me in the way of getting me noticed. If

I had any soul, big enough to find with a microscope, I believe I

should hate the North for cringing so to anything from Dixie. Let

the veriest vagabond in all the South, so ignorant that he can

scarcely spell baker correctly, to say nothing of biscuit, let him,

I say, come to any one of the New York hotels, and with something

of a swell write himself from Charleston, or any other Southern

city, and bless me, what deference is paid to my lord!

"You see I am a pure Southern woman here; nobody but Mrs. Richards

knows that I was born, mercy knows where. But for you, she never

need have known it either, but you must tell that we had not always

lived in Kentucky.

"But to do Mrs. Richards justice, she never alludes to my birth.

She takes it for granted that I moved, like Douglas, when I was

very young, and you ought to hear her introduce me to some of her

aristocratic friends. 'Mrs. So and So, Miss Worthington, from

Spring Bank, Kentucky,' then in an aside, which I am not supposed

to hear, she adds, 'A great heiress, of a very respectable family.

You may have heard of them.' Somehow, this always makes me

uncomfortable, as it brings up certain cogitations touching that

scamp you were silly enough to marry, thereby giving me to the

world, which my delectable brother no doubt thinks would have been

better off without me. How is Hugh? And how is that Hastings woman?

Are you both as much in love with her as ever? Well, so be it. I do

not know as she ever harmed me, and she did fit my dresses

beautifully. Even Mrs. Richards, who is a judge of such things,

says they display so much taste, attributing it, of course, to my

own directions. I am so glad now that I forgot to send her letter,

as I would not for the world have Adah in the Richards' family. It

would ruin my prospects for becoming Mrs. Dr. Richards sure, and

allow me to say they are not inconsiderable."