his priceless treasure.

Three weeks later, very suddenly and most unexpectedly, my dear mamma
was stricken mortally as she sat, apparently quite convalescent, in her
deep chair by the cradle, smiling at and caressing her infant. Mrs.
Austin and I were alone in the room with her; papa and Evelyn had gone
out for a walk. I had just been thinking how very pretty she looked that
day in her white wrapper, with a pink ribbon at the throat, and her
little, closely-fitting lace cap, through which her rich brown hair was
distinctly visible. She had a fine oval face, clear, pallid skin, and
regular though not perfect features, and never appeared so interesting
or beautiful as now, in the joy and pride of her new maternity. Suddenly
she grew strikingly pale, gasped, stretched out her hands, fixed her
imploring eyes on me, and fell back, half fainting, in her chair.

By the time we had placed her on her bed she was insensible, breathing
hard, though with a low fluttering pulse, that kept hope alive until the
doctor came. The moment he beheld her he knew that all was over;
remedies were tried in vain. She never spoke again, and, when my father
returned an hour later, a senseless mass of snow replaced the young wife
he had left, happy and hopeful.

I was spared the first manifestations of his agony, in which
disappointment and the idea of being pursued by a relentless fate bore
so great a part, by my own condition, which rendered me insensible for
nearly thirty hours, to all that passed around me. It was afternoon when
I awoke, as if from a deep sleep, to find myself alone with Mrs. Austin
in my chamber.

Except from a sense of lassitude I experienced no unpleasant sensations,
and I found myself marveling at the causes that could have consigned me
in health to my bed and bed-gown, to my shadowed chamber and the
supervision of my faithful nurse, when the sound of suppressed yet
numerous footsteps in the hall below met my ear, and the consciousness
that something unusual was going on took possession of and quickened my
still lethargic faculties.

"What does all this mean, Mrs. Austin?" I asked at last, in a voice
feeble as an infant's, "and what are those steps below? Why am I so
weak, and what are you doing here? Answer me, I beseech you," and I
clasped my hands piteously.

"Eat your panada, Miriam, and ask no questions," she said, lifting a
bowl from above a spirit-lamp on the chimney-piece, and bearing it
toward me. "Here it