for I
said something about staying with my mother; and then in her sweet
voice, she told me nervously, breaking the news to me gently, that she
was going to leave me, that she was going to heaven, but she would
think of me when she was there, and if God permitted she would watch
over me, or, if that might not be, she would ask our Lady to do so.

"So you see we shall never be parted, never really. We shall always be
together. Something tells me that wherever you are, and whatever you are
doing, I shall know all about it."

This comforted me, and I think it comforted my mother also, though God
knows if it would have done so, if, with her dying eyes, she could have
seen what was waiting for her child.

It fills my heart brimful to think of what happened next.

She told me to say a _De Profundis_ for her sometimes, and to think of
her when I sang the hymn to the Virgin. Then she kissed me and told me
to go to sleep, saying she was going to sleep too, and if it should
prove to be the eternal sleep, it would be only like going to sleep at
night and awaking in the morning, and then we should be together again,
and "the time between would not seem long."

"So good-night, darling, and God bless you," she said.

And as well as I could I answered her "Good-night!"

* * * * *

When I awoke from the profound slumber of childhood it was noon of the
next day and the sun was shining. Doctor Conrad was lifting me out of
bed, and Father Dan, who had just thrown open the window, was saying in
a tremulous voice:

"Your dear mother has gone to God."

I began to cry, but he checked me and said:

"Don't call her back. She's on her way to God's beautiful Paradise after
all her suffering. Let her go!"

So I lost her, my mother, my saint, my angel.

It was Easter Eve, and the church bells were ringing the Gloria.

EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER

After my mother's death there was no place left for me in my father's
house.

Betsy Beauty (who was now called Miss Betsy and gave herself more than
ever the airs of the daughter of the family) occupied half her days with
the governess who had been engaged to teach her, and the other half in
driving, dressed in beautiful clothes, to the houses of the gentry round
about.

Nessy MacLeod, called the young mistress, had become my father's
secretary, and spent most of her time in his private room, a privilege
which enlarged her pride without improving her man