d they can go out and shift for themselves."

"Oh, but I won't be a trouble to you," exclaimed Ida. "When I'm old
enough to leave school--"

She interrupted herself, for the moment she had actually forgotten the
misfortune which had come upon her. But her mother did not observe the
falling of her countenance, nor yet the incomplete sentence.

"Ida, have I been a bad mother to you?" Lotty sobbed out presently. "If
I was to die, would you be sorry?"

"Mother!"

"I've done my best, indeed I've done my best for yon! How many mothers
like me would have brought you up as I've done? How many, I'd like to
know? And some day you'll hate me; oh yes, you will! Some day you'll
wish to forget all about me, and you'll never come to see where I'm
buried, and you'll get rid of everything that could remind you of me.
How I wish I'd never been born!"

Ida had often to comfort her mother in the latter's fits of low
spirits, but had never heard such sad words as these before. The poor
child could say nothing in reply; the terrible thought that she herself
was bringing new woes to be endured almost broke her heart She clung
about her mother's neck and wept passionately.

Lotty shortly after took a draught from a bottle which the child
reached out of a drawer for her, and lay pretty still till drowsiness
came on. Ida undressed and crept to her side. They had a troubled
night, and, when the daylight came again, Lotty was no better. Ida rose
in anguish of spirit, torturing herself to find a way of telling what
must be told. Yet she had another respite; her mother said that, as it
was Saturday, she might as well stay away from school and be a little
nurse. And the dull day wore through; the confession being still
postponed.

But by the last post at night came Miss Rutherford's letter. Ida was
still sitting up, and Lotty had fallen into a doze, when the landlady
brought the letter upstairs. The child took it in, answered an inquiry
about her mother in a whisper, and returned to the bedside. She knew
the handwriting on the envelope. The dreaded moment had come.

She must have stood more than a quarter of an hour, motionless, gazing
on her mother's face, conscious of nothing but an agonised expectation
of seeing the sleeper's eyes open. They did open at length, and quickly
saw the letter.

"It's from Miss Rutherford, mother," said Ida, her own voice sounding
very strange to herself.

"Oh, is it?" said Lotty, in the hoarse whisper whi