She knew she would soon be there, and I knew it too.

And after the first sharp pang,--after the arrow of conviction fastened in my heart,--I pressed it there with a kind of stern, vindictive joy, triumphing in my capacity of suffering.

I wonder if any one ever felt as I did,--I wonder if any worm of the dust ever writhed so impotently under the foot of Almighty God! O kind and compassionate Father! Now I know thou art kind even in thy chastisements, merciful even in thy judgments, by the bitter chalice I have drained, by all the waves and billows that have gone over me, by anguish, humiliation, repentance, and prayer.

Forgive, forgive! for I knew not what I was doing! From that night my mother never left her bed.

The fever spared her, but she wilted like the grass beneath the scythe of the mower.