"That I should live to see this day, that this hour of bereavement should ever be known to me.

Oh! that this should be the result of my sufferings, that this should be the only reward of my toils and prayers." The blood rushed to her face, and her whole form trembled with an uncontrollable agitation; her bosom heaved with emotion, and the beatings of her heart were heard as plain as the click of the clock on the mantlepiece.

Stooping over the dead body she clasped it in her arms, and pressed the bloodless and inanimate lips in a fond embrace.
It was the promptings of a mother's heart.

She had nursed the child when an infant, and had seen her grow up as beautiful as the fairies so often described by the writers of fiction.

She had looked forward for the day when the child would bloom into womanhood, and be a blessing and a comfort in her old age.