The Actress' Daughter. May Agnes Fleming

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СКАЧАТЬ what do I look like?" said Miss Jerusha, in rising anger, having a presentiment something impudent was coming.

      "Why just exactly like one of the witches in Macbeth."

      Now, our worthy maiden lady had never heard of the "Noble Thane," but she had a pretty strong idea of what witches riding on broomsticks were like, and here this little black goblin girl had the audacity to compare her to one of them. For one awful moment Miss Jerusha glared upon the daring little sinner in impotent rage, while her fingers fairly ached to seize her and pound her within an inch of her life. Her face must have expressed her amiable desire, for the elf sprang back, and throwing herself into a stage attitude, uttered some words in a tragic voice, quite overpowering, coming from so small a body.

      The noise awoke the sleeper near the fire. She turned restlessly, opened her eyes, and called:

      "Georgia!"

      "Here, mamma; here I am," said the elf, springing up and bending over her. "Do you want anything?"

      "No, dear. I thought I heard you talking. Hasn't Warren come yet?"

      "No, mamma."

      "Then who were you talking to a moment ago? Is there any one here?"

      "Yes, mamma, the funniest looking old woman—here, you!" said the elf, beckoning to Miss Jerusha.

      Mechanically that lady obeyed the peremptory summons, too completely stunned and shocked by this unheard-of effrontery to fully realize for a moment that her ears had not deceived her.

      She approached and bent over the sufferer. Two hollow eyes were raised to her face, and feeling herself in the awful presence of death, all Miss Jerusha's indignation faded away, and she said, in a softened voice:

      "I am sorry to see you in this wretched place. Can I do anything for you?"

      "Who are you?" said the woman, transfixing her with a gaze quite as uncompromising as her little daughter's had been.

      "My name is Jerusha Skamp. I saw a light in this here cottage, and came over to see who was here. What can I do for you?"

      "Nothing for me—I am dying," said the woman, in a husky, hollow voice. "Nothing for me; nothing for me."

      "Oh, mamma! oh, mamma!" screamed the child, passionately. "Oh, not dying! Oh, mamma!"

      "Oh, Georgia, hush!" said the woman, turning restlessly. "Don't shriek so, child; I cannot bear it."

      But Georgia, who seemed to have no sort of self-control, or any other sort of control, still continued to scream her wild, passionate cry, "Oh, not dying! oh, mamma!" until Miss Jerusha, losing all patience, caught her arm in a vise-like grip, and, giving her a furious shake, said, in a deep, stern whisper:

      "You little limb! Do you want to kill your mother? Hold your tongue, afore I shake the life out of you!"

      The words had the effect of stilling the little tempest before her, who crouched into the corner and buried her face in her hands.

      "Poor Georgia! poor little thing! what will become of her when I am gone?" said the sufferer, while a spasm of intense pain shot across her haggard face.

      "The Lord will provide," said Miss Jerusha, rolling up the whites, or, more properly speaking, the yellows of her eyes. "Don't take on about that. Tell me how you came to be here! But first let me give you a drink. You look as if you needed something to keep life in you. Wait a minute."

      Miss Jerusha's hawk-like eye went roving round the room until it alighted on a little tin cup. Seizing this, she filled it with the currant wine she had brought, and held it to the sick woman's lips.

      Eagerly she drank, and then Miss Jerusha folded the shawl more closely around her, and, sitting down on the floor, drew her head upon her lap, and, with a touch that was almost tender, smoothed back the heavy locks of her dark hair.

      "Now, then," she said, "tell me all about it."

      "You are very kind," said the sick woman, looking up gratefully. "I feared I should die all alone here. I sent my little boy to the nearest house in search of help, but he has not yet returned."

      "Ah! you're a widder, I suppose?" said Miss Jerusha, trying to keep down a pang of remorse and dread, as she thought of the child she had so cruelly turned out into the bitter storm.

      "Yes, I have been a widow for the last seven years. My name is Alice Randall Darrell."

      "And hain't you got no friends nor nothin', Mrs. Darrell, when you come to this old place, not fit for pigs, let alone human Christians?"

      "No; no friends—not one friend in all this wide world," said the dying woman, in a tone so utterly despairing that Miss Jerusha's hand fell soothingly and pityingly on her forehead.

      "Sho, now, sho! I want ter know," said Miss Jerusha, quite unconscious that she was making rhyme, a species of literature she had the profoundest contempt for. "That's too bad, 'clare if it ain't! Are they all dead?"

      "I do not know—they are all dead to me."

      "Why, what on airth hed you done to them?" said Miss Jerusha, in surprise.

      "I married against my father's consent."

      "Ah! that was bad; but then he needn't hev made a fuss. He didn't ask your consent when he got married, I s'pose. Didn't like the young man you kept company with, eh?"

      "No; he hated him. My father was rich, and I ran off with a poor actor."

      "A play-acter! Why, you must hev bin crazy!"

      "Oh, I was—I was! I was a child, and did not know what I was doing. I thought my life with him would have been all light, and music, and glitter, and dazzle, such as I saw on the stage; but I soon found out the difference."

      "'Spect you did. Law, law! what fools there is in this 'ere world!" said Miss Jerusha, in a moralizing tone.

      "My father disowned me." ("And sarved you right, too!" put in Miss Jerusha sotto voce.) "My family cast me off. I joined the company to which my husband belonged, and did the tragedy business with him; and so for eight years we wandered about from city to city, from town to town, always poor and needy, for Arthur drank and gambled, and as fast as we earned money it was spent."

      "And you're a play-acter, too!" cried Miss Jerusha recoiling in horror.

      Miss Jerusha, trained in the land of "steady habits," had, from her earliest infancy, been taught to look upon theaters as only a little less horribly wicked than the place unmentionable to ears polite, and upon all "play-actors" as the immediate children and agents of the father of evil himself. She had never until now had the misfortune to come in contact with one personally, having only heard of them as we hear of goblins, warlocks, demons, and other "children of night." What wonder, then, that at this sudden, awful revelation she started back and almost hurled the frail form from her in loathing and horror. But a fierce clutch was laid on her shoulder—she almost fancied for an instant it was Satan himself come for his child—until, looking up, she saw the fiercely blazing eyes and witch-like face of little Georgia gleaming upon it.

      "You СКАЧАТЬ