All these were now forever blighted.

Not even the presence of her son awoke a thought within her that the living remained to claim her care and affection.

He was but a link in the chain of her paternal love, and the bonds having been broken she looked on the shattered fragment and sought not to unite what yet remained in an unhurt state.
When she rose from her stooping posture her face had resumed its cold and rigid appearance.

Turning to the old negro who was looking on in silent wonder and grief, she enquired in a calm tone: "Have you any of the money left that I gave you this morning ?" "Yes, missis," she replied.

"I got some left." "How much is it ?" asked Mrs.Wentworth.
"Twelve dollars," she answered, counting the notes that she had taken from her pocket.
"Will that be enough to pay for a coffin for my child ?" Mrs.Wentworth enquired.
"I don't know, but I spect it will do," replied the old negro.
"To make sure that it will be enough," observed Mrs.Wentworth, "here is some more money to pay for it." As she spoke she handed several notes to the old woman.