u
worse? Do you want anything?"

"No, I'm better, I reckon--the cobwebs are gone. I am myself again. What
have you here?" and Hugh grasped the closely written sheet.

In her delight at having her son restored to his reason so suddenly, so
unexpectedly, as the poor, deluded woman believed, Mrs. Worthington
forgot for a moment the pain, and clasped her arms about him, sobbing
like a child.

"Oh, my boy, I am so glad, so glad!" and her tears dropped fast, as like
a weary child, which wanted to be soothed, she laid her head upon his
bosom, crying quietly.

And Hugh, stronger now than she, held the poor, tired head there, and
kissed the white forehead, where there were more wrinkles now than when
he last observed it. His mother was growing old with care rather than
with years, and Hugh shuddered, as, for the first time in his life, he
thought how dreadful it would be to have no mother. Folding his weak
arms about her, mother and son wept together in that moment of perfect
understanding and union with each other. Hugh was the first to rally. It
seemed so pleasant to lean on him, to know that he cared so much for
her, that Mrs. Worthington would gladly have rested on his bosom longer,
but Hugh was anxious to know the worst, and brought her back to
something of the old, sad life, by asking if the letter were from 'Lina.

"Yes; I can't make it out, for one of my glasses is broken, and you know
she writes so blind."

"It never troubles me," and taking the letter from her unresisting hand,
Hugh asked that another pillow should be placed beneath his head, while
he read it aloud.

"You see that thousand is almost gone, and as board is two and a
half dollars per day, I can't stay long and shop in Broadway with
old Mrs. Richards, as I am expected to do in my capacity of
heiress. I tell you, Spring Bank, Kentucky--crazy old rat trap as
it is, has done wonders for me in the way of getting me noticed. If
I had any soul, big enough to find with a microscope, I believe I
should hate the North for cringing so to anything from Dixie. Let
the veriest vagabond in all the South, so ignorant that he can
scarcely spell baker correctly, to say nothing of biscuit, let him,
I say, come to any one of the New York hotels, and with something
of a swell write himself from Charleston, or any other Southern
city, and bless me, what deference is paid to my lord!

"You see I am a pure Southern woman here; nobody but Mrs.