Wentworth looked at the old woman for a moment, and a bitter
smile swept across her countenance. What were words of consolation to
her? They sounded like a mockery in her heart. She needed them not,
for they brought not to life again the child whose spirit had winged
its flight to eternity, but a short time since.

"Peace old woman," she replied calmly, "you know not what you say.
That," she continued, pointing to the body of Ella, "that you tell me
not to mourn, but to bend to the will of God. Pshaw! I mourn it not.
Better for the child to die than lead a beggar's life on earth."

"Shame, shame missis," observed the old woman, very much shocked at
what appeared to her the insensibility of Mrs. Wentworth. "You musn't
talk dat way, it don't do any good."

"You know not what I mean, auntie," Mrs. Wentworth answered in a
milder tone. "Why did I come here? Why did I bring my child ill and
dying from a shelter, and carry her through the night air, until I
found a home in your lonely cabin? Do you know why?" she continued
with bitterness. "It was because I was a beggar, and could not pay the
demands of the rich."

"Poh lady!" ejaculated the old woman. "Whar is your husband."

"My husband?" she replied. "Ah! where is he? Oh, God!" she continued
wildly. "Where is he now while his child lies dead through
destitution, and his wife feels the brand of the _thief_ imprinted
upon her forehead? Why is he not here to succor the infant boy who yet
remains, and who may soon follow his sister? Oh, God! Oh, God! that he
should be far away, and I be here gazing on the dead body of my
child--dead through my neglect to procure her proper medical
attendance; dead through the destitution of her mother."

"Nebber mind, missis," observed the old negro soothingly, "De chile is
gone to heaben, whar it wont suffer any more."

"Peace!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth passionately. "Do not talk to me of
Heaven. What has God done to aid me in my misery? Has he not suffered
me to feel the pangs of hunger, to see my children deprived of bread,
to permit me to stain my whole existence with a crime? The child is
gone to Heaven. Aye! there her sinlessness and innocence might give
her a welcome, and she may be happy, but the blank left in my heart,
the darkness of my mind, the cheerless and unpropitious future that
unveils itself before my aching eyes, can never be obliterated until I
am laid in the grave beside her, and my spirit has winged its flight
to