erified the doctor's prognostications,
the sympathizing women around the sufferer could scarcely restrain
their tears at the courage with which she supported her anguish,
rejoicing in it, as it were, in the prospect of embracing her
child--when all present were aware that the compensation was about to
be denied her, that the child was already dead. Just as the day
dawned, her anxious husband was congratulated on her safety, and then
the truth could no longer be concealed from Mary. She asked to see her
babe. Her husband was employed to persuade her to defer seeing it for
an hour or two, "till it was dressed--till she was more composed." But
the truth rushed into her mind, and she uttered not another word, in
the apprehension of increasing his disappointment and mortification.

So long did her silence continue, that, trusting she had fallen
asleep, old Barbara's granddaughter entreated poor Everard to withdraw
and leave her to her rest. But the moment he quitted the room, she
spoke, spoke resolutely, and in a firmer voice than her previous
sufferings had given them reason to suppose possible.

"Now, then, let me see my boy," said she. "I know that he is dead. But
do not be afraid of shocking or distressing me. I have courage to look
upon the poor little creature for whom I have suffered so much, and
who, I trusted, would reward me for all."

The women remonstrated, as it was their duty to remonstrate. But when
they saw that opposition on this point only excited her, dreading an
accession of fever, they brought the poor babe and laid it on the
pillow beside its mother. That first embrace, to which she had looked
forward with such intensity of delight, folded to her burning bosom
only a clay-cold child!

Even thus it was fair to look on--every promise in its little form,
that its beauty would have equalled that of its handsome parents; and
Mary, as she pressed her lips to its icy forehead, fancied she could
trace on those tiny features a resemblance to its father. Old Barbara,
perceiving how bitterly the tears of the sufferer were falling on the
cheeks of her lost treasure, now interfered. But the mother had still
a last request to make. A few downy curls were perceptible on the
temples--in colour and fineness resembling her own. She wished to
rescue from the grave this slight remembrance of her poor nameless
offspring; and her wish having been complied with, she suffered the
babe to be taken from her relaxed and movel