The playful voice of infancy never surprised her ear, without the
sound conveying a pang to the heart; nor could allusion, ever so remote,
be made to persons or events that bore resemblance to the sad incidents
of her own life, without quickening the never-dying pulses of maternal
love. No wonder, then, that when she found herself in the situation and
under the circumstances described, nature grew strong within her, and that
her mind caught glimpses, however dim and indistinct they might be, of a
truth that the reader has already anticipated. Still, a certain and
intelligible clue was wanting. Fancy had ever painted her child in the
innocence and infancy in which it had been torn from her arms; and here,
while there was so much to correspond with reasonable expectation, there
was little to answer to the long and fondly-cherished picture. The
delusion, if so holy and natural a feeling may thus be termed, had been
too deeply seated to be dispossessed at a glance. Gazing long, earnestly,
and with features that varied with every changing feeling, she held the
stranger at the length of her two arms, alike unwilling to release her
hold, or to admit her closer to a heart which might rightfully be the
property of another.
Pages:
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587