My mother chose the epitaph, which I had always thought so pretty.

It was simply this--"The angels gather such lilies for God." By degrees some little sunshine stole back, the dreadful silence lessened, the servants began to walk about without list slippers, the birds were carried back to the beautiful aviary--my mother's favorite nook; the doctors smiled as they came down the grand staircase.

I heard Sir Roland whistling and singing as he had done weeks ago.
At last I was admitted to see her.

One fine March morning, when the wind was blowing freshly and tossing the big, bare branches, I was taken to her room.

I should not have known her; a pale, languid lady lay there in the place of my laughing, beautiful mother; two large blue eyes full of tears looked at me; two thin, white arms clasped me, and then I was lying on my mother's heart.