mother known to her.

"You have, dear Sarah, an' here she is waitin' to clasp you to her
heart, an' give you her blessin'."

"Where?" she exclaimed, starting up in her bed, as if in full health;
"my mother! where?--where?"

She held her arms out towards her, for Mave had again assumed the
mother's station at her bedside, and the latter stood at a little
distance. On seeing her daughter's arms widely extended towards her, she
approached her, but whether checked by Sarah's allusion to her conduct,
or from a wish to spare her excitement, or from some natural coldness
of disposition, it is difficult to say, she did it with so little
appearance of the eager enthusiasm that the heart of the latter
expected, and with a manner so singularly cool and unexcited, that
Sarah, whose feelings were always decisive and rapid as lightning, had
time to recognize her features as Hanlon's aunt whom she had seen and
talked to before.

But that was not all; she perceived not in her these external
manifestations of strong affection and natural tenderness for which her
own heart yearned almost convulsively; there was no sparkling glance--no
precipitate emotion--no gushing of tears--no mother's love--in short,
nothing of what her noble and loving spirit could, recognize as
kindred to itself, and to her warm and impulsive heart. The moment--the
glance--that sought and found not what it looked for--were decisive: the
arms that had been extended remained extended still, but the spirit
of that attitude was changed, as was that eager and tumultuous delight
which had just flashed from her countenance. Her thoughts, as we said,
were quick, and in almost a moment's time she appeared to be altogether
a different individual.

"Stop!" she exclaimed, now repelling instead of soliciting the
embrace--"there isn't the love of a mother in that woman's heart--an'
what did I hear?--that she swore my father's life away--her husband's
life away. No, no; I'm changed--I see my father's blood, shed by her,
too, his own wife! Look at her features, they're hard and harsh--there's
no love in her eyes--they're cowld and sevare. No, no; there's something
wrong there--I feel that--I feel it--it's here--the feelin's in my
heart--oh, what a dark hour this is! You were right, Biddy, you brought
me black news this day--but it won't--it won't throuble me long--it
won't trouble this poor brain long--it won't pierce this poor heart
long--I hope not. Oh!" she exclaimed, turn