g, whose feet had never taken one step; my mother
suddenly stood up, her face white, her eyes filled with wild fire. She
stretched out her hands--into those dead limbs of hers seemed to spring
sudden life.

"I must follow them," she said, and she took what seemed to us two or
three steps and then once again she fell with her face to the ground.

"I knew it would kill her," said the rector. "I told my wife so."

He rang the bell.

"Send Lady Tayne's maid here and the nurse. Send for Mrs. Dalkeith and
for the doctor!"

"It has killed her, sir," said Patience, with a white face.

"I am afraid so," he replied.

They raised her and carried her to her room; they laid her down, and the
rector drew me to her.

"If any voice can call her back, my dear," he said, "it will be yours;
if she can hear anything it will be that. Put your arm around her neck
and speak to her."

I did. But, oh, Heaven! the white face fell helplessly on mine. Oh, my
beautiful young mother--as I held her there a vision came to me of her,
as I had seen her, with shining eyes and flying feet.

"She is with the angels of heaven," said the rector, gently. "My poor
child, come away."

"Do you mean that she is dead?" I asked--"dead?"

"Yes, she is with the angels," he replied. "Thank Heaven for it! Dear
child, she could not have lived and borne this--she would have suffered
a torture of anguish. Now it is all over, and she is at rest. She must
have died even as she fell."

Was I dying? My face fell on hers; an exceeding bitter cry came from my
lips.

"Oh, mother--mother!"

And then Heaven was merciful to me, too--a dark shadow seemed to fall
over me, and I remember no more.

When I awoke I was in my own room and the sun was shining--the birds
singing. Emma sat by me. Two days and two nights had passed since my
mother died.

I saw her once again. She had grown more beautiful even in death; loving
hands had laid white flowers on her breast and on her hands--a sweet
smile was on her lips.

The rector stood there with me.

"She has been murdered," I said; "that is the right word--murdered."

"Yes," he replied, "murdered! But she is among the angels of heaven.
Laura, loving hands have placed these flowers on your mother's silent
heart; do you know, dear child, what I should like you to place in her
coffin? The sweetest flower that grows."

"No; I do not know."

"The flower of divine forgiveness. I know, although you have never told
me,