Chapter XII: The Night Visit of Aunt Hetty

Gillian stole softly up to her room, for, in a strange house, and with darkness all around, she grew timid, and was glad to cover herself up in bed. But she could not sleep. This conversation about her mother, the strangeness of every thing around, kept her wakeful and restless.

Her bed stood opposite a window which looked into the orchard where her mother had played when a child. The mellow autumn-moon had risen, and she could almost discern the apples as they fell over-ripe from the boughs, disturbing a stillness otherwise profound.

As she lay thus, dreamy and sad, a noise at the door startled her. At first she rose from the pillow, and looked keenly that way; but sank down on the instant, as almost any girl would have done, huddling the clothes about her head.

The door opened very softly, and a small figure, clad in white, stole across the floor, with her head bent forward, as if listening at each step. As the figure came opposite the window, Gillian, who, fascinated even in her terror, had drawn the sheet from over her eyes, saw the features of Aunt Hetty, who came toward her like a shadow, evidently afraid of her own breath.

Curiosity overcame all fear in Gillian, who lay still, with her eyes half closed, watching her strange visitor. Aunt Hetty came close up to the bed, sunk on her knees, and seemed to be searching for a clear view of Gillian’s face, which was a little in shadow even if it had been uncovered.

At last she put her hand softly down, drew away the counterpane, and a kiss fell on Gillian’s forehead, so light and tremulous that it seemed but a shadow passing over her.

Gillian closed her eyes, for there was something in this act that brought dew into them, and with great difficulty she suppressed an unequal breath. Then, emboldened by her first effort, Aunt Hetty bent down and pored over that young face till a heavy tear fell upon it.

Unconsciously Gillian started, and shrinking together as if she had committed some crime, Aunt Hetty slid down to her knees, and burying her face in the bed-clothes, waited.

But Gillian controlled herself, and directly sobs came at slow intervals from the bed; then the whispered words of a prayer; and after that wild, uncontrolled bursts of anguish, in which Gillian heard her mother’s name repeated over and over again.

At last this sorrow seemed to wear itself out, and exhausted its force in faint sobs, ending in profound silence. After a little, Gillian felt that her aunt was sitting on the bed again, striving to search out the lineaments of her face in the shadows. The restraint became painful, and at last the young girl opened her eyes, meeting the mournful gaze of her aunt, upon which the moon shone brightly.

Aunt Hetty did not move; but her eyes wavered like those of a person suddenly detected in a crime.

“Aunt Hetty!” said Gillian, very softly, “Aunt Hetty!”

Her little hand stole out of the bed-clothes and touched that which lay helplessly on her pillow. There was something in that gentle voice, and the clasp of those fingers, that soothed the timid woman. Her fingers closed over Gillian’s, and though she trembled, it seemed with kindly feeling.

“Aunt Hetty,” repeated the young girl, “did not my mother come in this way to my bed one night, and you with her, when I was a little child?”

“And you remember her? You remember that noble, noble mother, and that night when we two prayed over you for the last time on earth?” she answered, in a whisper full of tender regrets.

“As I remember dreams—dreams of angels hovering near me,” said Gillian. “Your coming to-night made it a reality.”

“And she is dead—gone from us without a word of farewell—a word of—ah! my child, if you could but remember any word, any little thing by which I might know she thought of us with the old kindness!”

“How I wish so, too, dear aunt; but it is impossible. They took me from her so early: and, in the convent, I had so much kindness, that it made me forget easily. I remember there was one lady there, a boarder, who came to my cell every night, as you are here now, with a thousand gentle words and sweet kindnesses, and then the convent was so pleasant; that was when I was about five years old. She did not stay at the convent altogether; but came with other sisters of charity; sometimes staying a few weeks; sometimes three or four months.”

“And this lady was kind to you? God bless her for that!” said Aunt Hetty, quietly. “If it would benefit her, I would give an hour of my life for every consoling word she said to you.”

“Oh, yes,” said Gillian, reflectively, “it was a sweet voice, motherly and soft—sweeter than any I ever heard in the convent. I wonder what became of her?”

The young girl sighed as she spoke; while Aunt Hetty tightened her clasp on the little hand.

“I have heard of sisters of charity: they must be happy woman, and good ones too, let them belong to what church they will,” said Aunt Hetty. “Perhaps this lady is one of them still: for they travel about, I am told. I am not sweet-toned, as you say she was; but, if you will not think it strange for me to come into your room now and then, I should be very thankful. Your mother and I slept in each other’s arms till she was more than your age. I have grown old and lonely since then—no one cares for my love; but, if you would not feel it a burden, there are some things that I might do in a quiet way. Don’t you think so?”

She looked down into Gillian’s face with wistful earnestness as she spoke; and the young girl, lonely in her half orphanage, and searching for affection everywhere, rose up, and threw her arms around that drooping neck with a fervor that brought fresh tears into Aunt Hetty’s voice.

“Don’t mind if I seem silent and stiff before folks,” she said, folding the young girl close in her arms: “it is my way; but if I can save you one pain by laying down my life, speak, and I’ll do it.”

Before Gillian could answer as her warm heart dictated, the arms that had so closely embraced her fell away, and her aunt glided from the chamber, shadow-like, as she had entered.

And this was Gillian’s first night under the maternal roof. Perhaps the first deep feelings that she had ever experienced sprang into existence during those few hours. It seemed as if her father, too, was haunted with unrest; for, all night long, his step was heard by the master of the house, who slept beneath his room, walking to and fro.