had woven such a web of mystery and romance,--when I should hear
something of that father whose memory was curtained by such an
impenetrable veil. But now it mattered not. Had I known that the blood
of kings was in my veins, it would not have wakened one throb of
ambition, kindled one ray of joy. I cared not for my lineage or kindred.
I would not have disturbed the serenity that seemed settling on my
mother's departing spirit, by one question relative to her past life,
for the wealth of the Indies.

She gave to Mrs. Linwood a manuscript which she had written while I was
at school, and which was to have been committed to Peggy's care;--for
surely Peggy, the strong, the robust, unwearied Peggy, would survive
her, the frail, delicate, and stricken one!

She told me this the night before she died, when at her own request I
was left alone with her. I knew it was for the last time, but I had been
looking forward steadily to this hour,--looking as I said before, as the
iron-bound prisoner to the revolving knife, and like him I was outwardly
calm. I knelt beside her and looked on her shadowy form, her white,
transparent skin, her dark, still lustrous, though sunken eyes, till it
seemed that her spirit, almost disembodied, mingled mysteriously with
mine, in earnest of a divine communion.

"I thank God, my Gabriella," she said, laying her hand blessingly on my
bowed head, "that you submit to His holy will, in a spirit of childlike
submission. I thank Him for raising up such a friend as Mrs. Linwood,
when friend and comforter seemed taken from us. Love her, confide in
her, be grateful to her, my child. Be grateful to God for sending her to
soothe my dying hours with promises of protection and love for you, my
darling, my child, my poor orphan Gabriella."

"Oh mother," I cried, "I do not submit,--I cannot,--I cannot! Dreadful
thoughts are in my heart--oh, my mother, God is very terrible. Leave me
not alone to meet his awful judgments. Put your arms round me, my
mother, and let me lie close to your bosom, I will not hurt you, I will
lie so gently there. Death cannot separate us, when we cling so close
together. Leave me not alone in the world, so cold, so dark, so
dreary,--oh, leave me not alone!" Thus I clung to her, in the
abandonment of despair, while words rushed unhidden from my lips.

"Oh, my Gabriella, my child, my poor smitten lamb!" she cried, and I
felt her heart fluttering against mine like a dying bird. "Sorrow has