The Legacy of Cain | Page 9

me something, before I allow you to run your risk," he said. "Are
you one of those people who think that the tempers of children are
formed by the accidental influences which happen to be about them? Or
do you agree with me that the tempers of children are inherited from
their parents?"

The Doctor (as I concluded) was still strongly impressed by the
Minister's resolution to adopt a child whose wicked mother had
committed the most atrocious of all crimes. Was some serious
foreboding in secret possession of his mind? My curiosity to hear him
was now increased tenfold. I replied without hesitation:
"I agree with you."
He looked at me with his sense of humor twinkling in his eyes. "Do
you know I rather expected that answer?" he said, slyly. "All right. I'll
come back."
Left by myself, I took up the day's newspaper.
My attention wandered; my thoughts were in the cell with the Minister
and the Prisoner. How would it end? Sometimes, I was inclined to
doubt with the Doctor. Sometimes, I took refuge in my own more
hopeful view. These idle reflections were agreeably interrupted by the
appearance of my friend, the Chaplain.
"You are always welcome," I said; "and doubly welcome just now. I
am feeling a little worried and anxious."
"And you are naturally," the Chaplain added, "not at all disposed to
receive a stranger?"
"Is the stranger a friend of yours?" I asked.
"Oh, no! Having occasion, just now, to go into the waiting-room, I
found a young woman there, who asked me if she could see you. She
thinks you have forgotten her, and she is tired of waiting. I merely
undertook, of course, to mention what she had said to me."
The nurse having been in this way recalled to my memory, I felt some
little interest in seeing her, after what had passed in the cell. In plainer
words, I was desirous of judging for myself whether she deserved the
hostile feeling which the Prisoner had shown toward her. I thanked the
Chaplain before he left me, and gave the servant the necessary

instructions. When she entered the room, I looked at the woman
attentively for the first time.
Youth and a fine complexion, a well-made figure and a natural grace of
movement--these were her personal attractions, so far as I could see.
Her defects were, to my mind, equally noticeable. Under a heavy
forehead, her piercing eyes looked out at persons and things with an
expression which was not to my taste. Her large mouth--another defect,
in my opinion--would have been recommended to mercy, in the
estimation of many men, by her magnificent teeth; white, well-shaped,
cruelly regular. Believers in physiognomy might perhaps have seen the
betrayal of an obstinate nature in the lengthy firmness of her chin.
While I am trying to describe her, let me not forget her dress. A
woman's dress is the mirror in which we may see the reflection of a
woman's nature. Bearing in mind the melancholy and impressive
circumstances under which she had brought the child to the prison, the
gayety of color in her gown and her bonnet implied either a total want
of feeling, or a total want of tact. As to her position in life, let me
confess that I felt, after a closer examination, at a loss to determine it.
She was certainly not a lady. The Prisoner had spoken of her as if she
was a domestic servant who had forfeited her right to consideration and
respect. And she had entered the prison, as a nurse might have entered
it, in charge of a child. I did what we all do when we are not clever
enough to find the answer to a riddle--I gave it up.
"What can I do for you?" I asked.
"Perhaps you can tell me," she answered, "how much longer I am to be
kept waiting in this prison."
"The decision," I reminded her, "doesn't depend on me."
"Then who does it depend on?"
The Minister had undoubtedly acquired the sole right of deciding. It
was for him to say whether this woman should, or should not, remain in
attendance on the child whom he had adopted. In the meanwhile, the
feeling of distrust which was gaining on my mind warned me to

remember the value of reserve in holding intercourse with a stranger.
She seemed to be irritated by my silence. "If the decision doesn't rest
with you," she asked, "why did you tell me to stay in the
waiting-room?"
"You brought the little girl into the prison," I said; "was it not natural to
suppose that your mistress might want you--"
"Stop, sir!"
I had evidently given offense; I stopped directly.
"No person on the face of the earth," she declared, loftily,