acceptable and pleasant to
you; and when people praised me, said I was pretty, I rejoiced that
one day I might be considered worthy of you. Something wounded me
when at last we met. Let me tell you, my dearest, that you may take
out the thorn, and heal the grieved spot. The day I came,--how long
ago? for I am in a delicious dream, have been eating the luscious
lotos of realized hope,--the day I came, and saw a new, glorious sun
shining from my mother's eyes, you ran to meet me. I hear you again,
'My baby! my baby!' as you rushed across the floor. You opened your
arms, and when you clasped me to your bosom you bent my head back,
and gazed at me--oh! how eagerly, hungrily; and I saw your face turn
ghastly white, and a great agony sweep across it, and the lips that
kissed me were cold and quivering. To me it was all sweet as heaven;
but the cup of delight I drained, had bitter drops for you. Mother,
tell me, were you disappointed in your daughter?"

"No, darling; no. The little blue-eyed child has grown into a woman,
of whom the haughtiest mother in the land might be proud. My darling
is all I wish her."

"Ah, mother! the flattery is inexpressibly sweet, falling like dew on
parched leaves; but the eyes of your idolatrous baby have grown very
keen, and I know that the sight of me brings you a terrible pain you
cannot hide. Last night, when Mrs. Waul made me shake out my hair to
show its length, and praised it and my eyebrows, you dropped my hand,
and walked away; and in the mirror on the wall, I saw your
countenance shaken with grief. What is it? We have been apart so
long, do take me into your heart fully; tell me why you look at me,
and turn aside and shiver?"

Her clasping arms tightened about her mother's waist, and after a
short silence, Mrs. Orme exclaimed:

"It is true. It has always been so. From the hour when you were born,
and your little round head black with silky locks was first laid upon
my arm, your face stabbed me like a dagger, and your eyes are blue
steel that murder my peace. My daughter, my daughter, you are the
exact counterpart, the beautiful image of your father! It is because
I see in your eyes so wonderfully blue the reproduction of his, and
about your mouth and brows the graceful lines of his, that I shudder
while I look at you. Ah, my darling! is it not hard that your beauty
should sting like a serpent the mother whose blood filled your veins?
The very tones of your voice, the carriage of yo