Grace Harlowes Senior Year at High School | Page 8

to Mrs. Allison, who examined it closely for a moment,
then dropping it with a little cry, again clasped Mabel in her arms.
"They are the pins I had specially made and engraved for you," she said.
"There is no longer any doubt. You are my lost child."
At these words a light of complete understanding seemed to dawn upon
Mabel, and with a cry of rapture she wound her arms about her
mother's neck.
It was a joyful, though rather a trying moment for the four chums, who
were seized with a hysterical desire to laugh and cry in the same breath.
Grace made a slight motion toward the door, which her friends were
not slow to comprehend. It was her intention to slip quietly away and
leave the mother and daughter alone with their new-found happiness.
Before she could put her plan into execution, however, Mrs. Allison
divined her intention and turning quickly toward her, said, "Don't go,
Grace. I feel as though you girls belonged to me, too. Besides, you
have not heard my part of this story yet."
"Perhaps you are hardly strong enough to tell us after so much
excitement," deprecated Grace.
"My dear, I feel as though I had just begun to live," answered Mrs.
Allison. "The past has been one long dreary blank. If you only knew
the years of agony I have passed through. When you hear my story you
will understand why this reunion is little short of miraculous.
"My home is in Denver. Mabel was born there," continued Mrs. Allison.
"Fourteen years ago this summer my husband and I decided to spend

the summer in Europe, taking with us our baby daughter, Mabel, and
her nurse.
"On the morning that we were to sail, circumstances arose that made it
necessary for my husband and myself to be in New York until almost
sailing time. He therefore sent the nurse, a French woman, who was
thoroughly familiar with the city, on ahead to the vessel, with Mabel in
her care. We had barely time to catch the boat and were met by the
nurse, who said that she had left Mabel asleep in one of the state rooms
engaged for us. It was not until we had put out to sea that we
discovered that Mabel was missing, and a thorough search of the ship
was at once made. The nurse persisted in her statement that Mabel went
aboard with her. Every nook and cranny of the ship was overhauled,
but my child could not be found, and the supposition was that she had
in some way fallen overboard.
"I was distracted with grief, and nearly lost my reason, and when we
reached the other side I passed into a long illness. It was many weeks
before I returned to consciousness of my affairs, and the terrible
realization that my baby was gone forever. I felt as though I could not
face the future without her. I had scarcely recovered from the first
shock attending my great loss, when my husband contracted typhoid
fever and died after an illness of five weeks.
"We were in Florence, Italy, at the time and I prayed that I might die,
too. It was during those dark hours that Mrs. Gibson proved her
friendship for me. She sailed for Italy the instant she received the
cablegram announcing my husband's death, and brought me back to
America with her. I spent a year with her in her New York home,
before returning to Denver. Since then I have never been east until this
summer.
"Four months ago I received a letter from the nurse who had charge of
Mabel on the day of her disappearance. It was a great surprise to me, as
she had left us directly after we landed with the intention of returning
to France. But the news the letter contained was a far greater surprise,
for she stated that Mabel had never gone aboard the vessel.

"The nurse had had some personal business to attend to before going
aboard, and in order to save time had taken Mabel with her. In some
inexplicable manner Mabel had strayed from her side. She had made
frantic search for the child and finally, not daring to go to us with the
truth, had conceived the idea of making us believe that she had taken
Mabel aboard the ship. She had bribed the purser, a Frenchman whom
she knew, to corroborate her story, and had succeeded in her
treacherous design.
"She wrote that she had longed over and over again to confess the truth,
but had not dared to do so. She had heart trouble, she said, and her days
were numbered. Therefore she felt that she must confess the truth
before it became too late.
"You can