CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST.
THE INTRUSION.
As soon as the breath had left her child's body, Mrs.Wentworth removed the corpse from her lap and laid it on the bed; than standing aside of it, gazed upon all that remained of her little daughter.

Not a tear, not a sigh, not a groan denoted that she felt any grief at her bereavement.

Except a nervous twitching of her mouth, her features wore a cold and rigid appearance, and her eye looked dull and glassy.
She spoke not a word to those around her who yet lived.

Her little boy was unnoticed, no other object but the dead body appeared to meet her view.
There are moments when the fountains of grief become dried up.

It was so with Mrs.Wentworth.The sight of her dead child's face--beautiful in death--for it wore a calm and placid exterior, too life-like for death, too rigid for life, awoke no emotion in her bosom; nor did the knowledge that the infant would soon be placed in the grave, and be forever hidden from the gaze she now placed on it so steadfastly, cause a single tear drop to gather in her eye, nor a sigh to burst from her pale and firmly closed lips.