The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 113: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

110 THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. with the joyous tidings that she whom my heart has so Jong earned for is happy, is my prayer. Now go, my dear F., my eart is with you.” ® * + * *¥ * Not the least sound was ut‘ered by either Mrs. Morton or Henry while Captain Morton was reading. The simple and affecting language in which this code of instructions which the paper contained was couched, irresistibly claimed their attention to it; and, when the captain ceased reading, and with a deep sigh laid down the paper, they felt a pang of disappointment that there was no more in the same strain. ‘That is all,” said the captain. There was a dead silence for several moments. Mrs. Morton was oy affected, and Henry, as well as his brother, was so bewildered in the mental attempt to reconcile the sentiments im this paper with the abduction of Mabel, that they knew not wae to say. It was Henry now who first spoke, and he cried: ; ‘‘Good Heavens, what are we to think? The writer of this aper, and the agent to whom he has written it, are not the hands into which our poor Mabel has fallen.” ‘*No,” said Mrs. Morton, ‘‘nor can it be possible that that mendicant can be known to have any connection with such people.” ‘‘T fear not, indeed,” said Captain Morton. ‘‘The tone of this writing is such that not one of us would have regretted to see its author come to us and claim Mabel as his own child. There is sound judgment in it—correct feeling; in every line there: breathe the sentiments of a man of good feeling and profound philanthropy. Oh, if such an one as he who wrote these words. ad come to bless Mabel with the news that she had a father: living, no one would have hailed his presence with more delight. than I should.” ‘‘Nor I—nor I,” said Henry. ‘‘ Who is this F. ?” ‘* Heaven knows.” ‘* What are we to think? There is a mystery iv all this which: defies all conjecture. The person to whom this letter is ad- dressed cannot be that man who has filled the neighborhood: with terror in consequence of the frightful crime he has commit- ted, and who visited you here ?” Mrs. Morton suddenly clasped her hands, and uttered an eo oeeenon of grief which alarmed both her husband and enry. They at once flew to her, and begged her to say what sudden thought distressed her. Allshe did for some moments was to wring her hands and exclaim, in frantic accents: ‘‘Oh, my poor Mabel—my poor Mabel!” | “Tell us—oh, tell us,” said her husband, ‘‘ what sudden. thought or conviction has given rise to this fearful agony of ap- prehension.” Mrs. Morton’s tears fell fast as she sobbed: __ ‘‘The worst thought of all—oh, the worst of ali! Does it not- strike you—does it not occur to you, with all the force of truth comicbooks. com