CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE MEETING AT LINCOLN PARK.

F OR weeks Oliver and his mother had lived in the same city, yet never met. Each believed the other to be dead; each had mourned for the other. No subtle instinct led either to doubt the truth of the sad reports which, for base ends, Mr. Kenyon had caused to be circulated.

But for her unhappy domestic troubles, Mrs. Conrad (for she had assumed the name of her first husband) was happily situated. Mrs. Graham was bound to her by the devoted care which she had taken of the little Florette. Indeed, the bereaved woman had come to love the little girl almost as if she were her own, and had voluntarily assumed the constant care of her, though regarded as a guest in the house.

Mr. Graham was very wealthy, and his house, situated on the Boulevard, was as attractive as elegance and taste, unhampered by a regard for expense, could make it. A spacious, well-appointed chamber was assigned to Mrs. Conrad, and she lived in a style superior to which she had been accustomed. Surely it was a fortunate haven into which her storm-tossed bark had drifted. If happiness could be secured by comfort or luxury, then she would have been happy. But neither comfort nor luxury can satisfy the heart, and it was the heart which, in her case, had suffered a severe wound.

One day, as Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Conrad sat together, the little Florette in the arms of the latter, Mrs. Graham said:

"I am afraid you let that child burden you, Mrs. Conrad. She never gives you a moment to yourself."

Mrs. Conrad smiled sadly.

"I don't wish to have a moment to myself. When I am alone, and with nothing to occupy me, I give myself up to sad thoughts of the happiness I once enjoyed."

"I understand," said Mrs. Graham gently, for she was familiar with Mrs. Conrad's story. "I can understand what it must be to lose a cherished son."

"If he had only been spared to me I believe I could bear without a murmur the loss of fortune, and live contentedly in the deepest poverty."

"No doubt; but would that be necessary? Certainly your husband has no claim to the fortune, which he withholds from you."

"I suppose not."

"If you should make the effort you could doubtless get it back."

"Probably I could."

"You had better let me ask Mr. Graham to select a reliable lawyer whom you could consult with reference to it."

Mrs. Conrad shook her head.

"Let him have it," she said. "I care nothing for money. As long as you, my dear friend, are content to give me a home I am happier here than I could be with him."

"My dear Mrs. Conrad, it would indeed grieve me if anything should take you from us, even if to your own advantage. You see how selfish I am? But I can't bear to think that that brutal husband of yours is enjoying your money, and thus reaping the benefit of his bad deeds."

"Sometimes I feel so," Mrs. Conrad admitted. "If Oliver were alive I should feel more like asserting my rights, but now all ambition has left me. If I should institute proceedings I should be compelled to return to New York, where everything would remind me of my sad loss. No, my dear friend, your advice is no doubt meant for the best, but I prefer to leave Mr. Kenyon in ignorance of my whereabouts and to keep away from his vicinity. You don't want me to go away, Florette, do you?"

"Don't doe away," pleaded the little girl, putting her arms round Mrs. Conrad's neck.

"You little darling!" said Mrs. Conrad, returning the embrace. "I have something to live for while you love me."

"I love you so much," said the child.

"I don't know but what I shall become jealous," said Mrs. Graham playfully.

"Go and tell your mamma that you love her best," said Mrs. Conrad.

She felt that a mother's claim was first, beyond all others. Nothing would have induced her to come between Florette and the affection which she owed to her mother.

Little Florette ran to her mother and climbed in her lap.

"I love you best, mamma," she said, "but I love my other mamma, too."

"And quite right, my dear child," said Mrs. Graham, with a bright smile. "It was but in jest, Mrs. Conrad. No mother who deserves her child's love need fear rivalry. Florette's heart is large enough and warm enough to love us both."

Mrs. Conrad rejoiced in the liberty to love Florette and to be loved by her, and if ever she forgot her special cause of sorrow it was when she had the little girl in her arms.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Mrs. Conrad," said Mrs. Graham, a little later.

"It is granted already."

"This afternoon I want to pay some calls. Will you be willing to go out with Florette?"

"Most certainly. I shall be glad to do so."

"I am sorry I cannot place the carriage at your disposal, as I should like to use it myself."

"Oh, we can manage without it. Can't we, Florette?"

"Let us yide in the horse-cars," said the little girl. "I like to yide in the cars better than in mamma's carriage."

"It shall be as you like, Florette," said Mrs. Conrad.

Florette clapped her little hands. Accustomed to ride in the carriage, it was a change and variety to her to ride in the more democratic conveyance, the people's carriage.

Mrs. Conrad, intent on amusing her little charge, decided to take her to Lincoln Park, in the northern division of the city. This is a beautiful pleasure-ground, comprising over two hundred acres, with fine trees, miniature lakes and streams, and is a favorite resort for children and their guardians, especially on Saturday afternoons, when there are open-air concerts. It was a bright, sunny day, and even Mrs. Conrad felt her spirits enlivened as she descended from the cars, and, entering the park, mingled with the gay throngs who were giving themselves up to enjoyment.

Little Florette wanted to go to the lake, and her companion yielded to her request.

It was early autumn. The trees had lost none of their full, rich foliage, and the lawns were covered with soft verdure. Little Florette laughed and clapped her hands with childish hilarity. Mrs. Conrad sat down on the grass, while Florette ran hither and thither as caprice dictated.

"Don't go far away, Florette," said Mrs. Conrad.

"No, I won't," said the child.

But a child's promises are soon forgotten. She ran to the lake, and while standing on the brink managed to tumble in. It was not deep, yet for a little child there was danger. Florette screamed, and Mrs. Conrad, hearing her cry, sprang to her feet in dismay.

But Florette found a helper.

Oliver had strayed out to Lincoln Park like the rest in search of enjoyment, and was standing close at hand when the little girl fell into the lake.

It was the work of an instant to plunge in and rescue the little girl. Then he looked about to find out to whom he should yield her up.

His eyes fell upon Mrs. Conrad hastening to her young charge. As yet she had not noticed Oliver. She only saw Florette.

Oliver's heart gave a great bound. Could it be his mother—his mother whom he believed dead—or was it only a wonderful resemblance?

"Mother!" he exclaimed, almost involuntarily.

At that word Mrs. Conrad turned her eyes upon him. She, too, was amazed, and something of awe crept over her as she looked upon one whom she thought a tenant of the tomb.

"Oliver!" she said wistfully, and in an instant he was folded in her arms.

"Then it is you, mother, and you are not dead!" exclaimed Oliver joyfully, kissing her.

"Did you think me dead, then? Mr. Kenyon wrote me that you were dead."

"Mr. Kenyon is a scoundrel, mother; but I can forgive him—I can forgive everybody, since you are alive."

"God is indeed good to me. I will never murmur again," ejaculated Mrs. Conrad, with heartfelt gratitude.

"But, mother, I don't understand. How came you here—in Chicago?"

"Come home with me, Oliver, and you shall hear. My little Florette's clothes are wet, and I must take her home immediately."

A cab was hired, for delay might be dangerous. On the way Mrs. Conrad and Oliver exchanged confidences. Oliver's anger was deeply stirred by the story of his mother's incarceration in a mad-house.

"I take back what I said. I won't forgive Mr. Kenyon after that!" he said. "He shall bitterly repent what he has done!"