Earlier than usual, one day about the second week in February, she went over to the asylum to pay her accustomed visit. She was moving on, after having entered the building, in the direction of the apartment occupied by her father, when an attendant stepped up, and touching her arm in a respectful manner, said—
“This direction, if you please.”
There was something in the manner of the attendant that seemed to Eugenia a little mysterious, but she followed as he led the way. He soon paused at the door of an apartment, and half whispering in her ear said—
“Your father is in this room.”
Eugenia entered alone. Her father was standing near the fire in an attitude of deep thought. He lifted his eyes as she entered, and looked her inquiringly in the face for some moments. She saw in an instant that he was greatly changed—that reason had, in fact, again assumed her sway over the empire of his mind.
“My dear, dear father!” she instantly exclaimed, springing toward him.
“Eugenia! Eugenia!” he ejaculated, in turn, as he held her from him for a moment or two. “Can this be my own Eugenia? Surely we are both dreaming! But it is! It is!” and he drew her to his bosom, and held her there in a long- strained embrace.
“But what does all this mean, my dear child? Why are we here? What place is it? Why am I so unlike myself that I doubt my own identity? Why am I so changed? Surely! surely! I am not Hubert Ballantine!”
“Be composed, dear father!” said Eugenia, with an instinctive feeling of concern. “We will go from here at once, and then we will talk over all that seems strange to you now.”
As she said this, Eugenia pulled a bell, and requested the attendant who answered to call the principal of the institution. He came immediately, and she had a brief interview with him in regard to the propriety of removing her father instantly. He acquiesced, and ordered a carriage to be brought to the door. In this she entered with him, and directed the driver to take them to the Tremont House in Boston. There handsome rooms were ordered, and every effort was made by her to cause external circumstances to assume a character similar to what he had been accustomed to in former years. But her own appearance—her plain, worn, meagre garments, and above all, her changed face, so pale, so thin, so careworn, so marred by years of intense suffering—sadly perplexed him. Still he had a faint glimpse of the truth, and as his mind’s eye turned intently toward the point from whence light seemed to come, he more than suspected the real facts in the case—at least the leading fact, that he had been out of his mind for a long time. He could remember distinctly the burning of the vessel at sea, and also the days and nights of suffering which were spent in open boats after leaving the vessel. But all from that time was dim and incoherent, like the vagaries of a dream.
After satisfying her father’s mind, as far as she dared do so at once, in regard to the real position in which he suddenly found himself placed, she left him, and going to the proper representative of the asylum, procured a transfer of the stock held for the support of Mr. Ballantine, and then placed the certificates in the hands of an agent for sale, procuring from him at the same time an advance of one hundred dollars for immediate use. This was all accomplished in the course of a couple of hours. After this arrangement, she paid Mrs. Gaston a hurried visit— explained the happy change in her father’s state of mind, and promising to see her again in a little while; had her trunk sent to the hotel, to which she herself returned, after having purchased various articles of clothing. When she next saw her father, her external appearance was greatly changed. This seemed to afford him real pleasure.
The next two or three days she spent in gradually unfolding to him the whole history of the past five years. At every step of her progress in this she trembled for the result—like one traversing a narrow, unknown, and dangerous passage in the dark. But on the third day, after nearly every thing had been told, she began to feel confidence that all would be well. The agitation and strong indignation exhibited when she related the treatment she had received in New Orleans, especially from Mr. Paralette, alarmed her greatly. But this gave way to a calm and rational consideration of the right course to be pursued to prove his identity and claim his property, to do which he was well aware would not be attended with any real difficulty, especially as with the return of reason had come back a distinct recollection of every particular connected with his business and property in New Orleans.
In the mean time, Mrs. Gaston was looked after, and temporary arrangements made for her comfort. As soon as Mr. Ballantine fully understood the position of things in New Orleans, he insisted upon an immediate return to that city, which Eugenia did not oppose. Preparations were therefore made for their early departure, and completed in a very short time.
It was nearly four o’clock on the afternoon of the day fixed for their departure, and when they were about leaving for the cars, that a servant came to the door of their parlor and said that a gentleman wished to see Mr. Ballantine. The servant was requested to ask him to walk up. Eugenia was in the parlor, and could not but feel surprised that any one in Boston should wish to see her father. She waited, therefore, to see who the individual was. He soon made his appearance—entering without speaking, and advancing toward her with his eyes fixed intently upon her face.
“William!” she ejaculated, in a quick, low, astonished voice, and sank instantly upon a chair, pale as ashes, and trembling in every limb.
“Eugenia! Can this be, indeed, my own long-lost Eugenia?” said Perkins, for it was he, springing eagerly forward and taking the half-fainting girl in his arms.
It needed no words of explanation from either—no renewal of early vows—no new pledges of affection—for “Love hath wordless language all its own, Heard in the heart–”
“My dear children!” said the father, coming forward, as soon as he could recall his bewildered senses, and taking both in his arms, “the long night has at last broken, and the blessed sun has thrown his first bright beams upon us. Let us look up to HIM who chasteneth his children for good, and bless him not only for the present joy, but for past sorrow—it was not sent in anger, but in mercy.”
The departure of Mr. Ballantine and Eugenia was deferred for some days, during which time, at the urgent solicitation of Mr. Perkins, the nuptial ceremonies, so long delayed, were celebrated. He then accompanied them to New Orleans, where a summary proceeding restored to Mr. Ballantine all his property. He did not resume business, but returned to the North to reside with his daughter and her husband.
Nothing more remains to be said, except that Mrs. Gaston was never after compelled to work for the slop-shop men. Mr. Perkins and his lovely wife cared well for her.
THE FATHER’S DREAM.
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
WHEN Mr. William Bancroft, after much reflection, determined upon matrimony, he was receiving, as a clerk, the moderate salary of four hundred dollars, and there was no immediate prospect of any increase. He had already waited over three years, in the hope that one or two hundred dollars per annum would be added to his light income. But, as this much-desired improvement in his condition did not take place, and both he and his lady-love grew impatient of delay, it was settled between them, that, by using strict economy in their expenses, they could get along very well on four hundred dollars a year.
