stood there, in that
same room, and wondered where Ernestine was; and Mrs. Dering shivered,
though, for quite another reason, for her mind held far different
memories.

Just then, Ernestine turned, as though awakening, and the clock began to
strike twelve. Through the dozen slow strokes she did not move again,
but the moment they ceased, she moaned just a little bit, in a feeble,
tired way, and opened her eyes.

At the same instant, Mrs. Dering held a tiny glass to her lips, raised
the pillow and said quietly:

"Drink, dear."

Ernestine did so, unresistingly, and lay for several minutes perfectly
quiet, with her eyes wide open; and then they began to grow startled,
and went suddenly to Bea's face, and stopped there. Bea smiled,
notwithstanding she was trembling violently, and leaving her seat, came
to the bed. But Ernestine was not noticing her now; she was looking all
about the room in a terrified way, and suddenly sat up straight in bed,
pushed her hair back, and saw her mother. For an instant she did not
seem to know what it was she wanted; but it came to her suddenly, and
with a beseeching cry, she threw out her arms.

"Oh, mama, mama! is it true? Am I somebody else's child?"

Bea turned away, and fell into her chair again, unable to see that
pitiful, anguished face; and Mrs. Dering, sitting down on the bed, drew
the trembling figure closely to her heart.

"My darling, you are my own dear little girl--" but Ernestine
interrupted, with a pitiful cry:

"Oh! tell me if that letter is so, or if it means some other Ernestine?
just tell me that, quick, mama, oh please do!"

What could Mrs. Dering say, with those clinging arms about her neck, and
that pleading face, and the despairing eyes never moving from hers?

"You are dreaming, darling," she began soothingly; but Ernestine threw
her head back, and her voice rose to a terrified shriek:

"You won't tell me; you won't tell me," she cried wildly. "Oh, I must
know if it is true; I must. Oh, mama, say it isn't; tell me that you are
my own mama, that the letter don't mean me; oh mama! mama!"

"Ernestine, darling, listen;" said Mrs. Dering, with the tears running
down her pale face. "You shall know the truth. You have been my little
girl ever since you were two months old, but your own mother gave you to
me just before she went to heaven, and she was my--;" but it was
needless to say more; Ernestine gave a little moan, and dropped her
head, and Mrs. Dering was