The Convict's Story

"No, never back again--never. I waited so long, waited till I almost
thought I heard my baby cry, and then went home; but baby was gone.
Alice, do you hear me?--baby was gone;" and the poor, mumbling creature,
rocking to and fro, buried her bony fingers in Alice's fair hair.

"Poor Densie! poor auntie!" was all Alice said, as she regarded with
horror the man, who went on: "Yes, baby was gone--gone to my mother's, in a part of the city where
there was no probability of its being found and I was gone, too. You are
shocked, fair maiden, and well you may be," the convict said.

"In course of time there was a daughter born to me and to Eliza; a sweet
little, brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, whom we named Adaline."

Instinctively every one in that room glanced at the black eyes and hair
of 'Lina, marveling at the change.

"I loved this little girl, as it was natural I should, more than I loved
the other, whose mother was a servant. Besides that, she was not so
deeply branded as the other; see--" and pushing back the thick locks
from his forehead, he disclosed his birthmark, while 'Lina suddenly put
her hand where she knew there was another like it.

"At last there came a separation. Eliza would not live with me longer
and I went away, but pined so for my child that I contrived to steal
her, and carried her to my mother, where was the other one. 'Twas there
you tracked me, Densie. You came one day, enacting a fearful scene, and
frightening my children until they fled in terror and hid away from your
sight."