You will understand a mother's desire
to see, face to face, the child who belongs, of right, to her. With
this view, I have come to this neighborhood. I will not say where,
for concealment is necessary to me. I send this note by a
trustworthy attendant,--Mrs. Hardwick, my little Ida's nurse in her
infancy,--who will conduct Ida to me, and return her again to you.
Ida is not to know whom she is visiting. No doubt she believes you
her mother, and it is well. Tell her only, that it is a lady who
takes an interest in her, and that will satisfy her childish
curiosity. I make this request as
"IDA'S MOTHER."
Mrs. Crump read this letter with mingled feelings. Pity for the
writer; a vague curiosity in regard to the mysterious circumstances
which had compelled her to resort to such a step; a half feeling of
jealousy, that there should be one who had a claim to her dear
adopted daughter superior to her own; and a strong feeling of relief
at the assurance that Ida was not to be permanently removed,--all
these feelings affected the cooper's wife.
"So you were Ida's nurse," she said, gently.
"Yes, ma'am," said the stranger. "I hope the dear child is well."
"Perfectly well. How much her mother must have suffered from the
separation!"
"Indeed, you may say so, ma'am. It came near to break her heart."
"So it must," said sympathizing Mrs.
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