;
The flowers beneath the mower's hand
Lie withering ere 'tis night.

"Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be Thou our guard while troubles last--
O Father, be our home!"

"Now sing a song--a Scottish song," suggested Caroline, when the hymn
was over--"'Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon.'"

Again Mrs. Pryor obeyed, or essayed to obey. At the close of the first
stanza she stopped. She could get no further. Her full heart flowed
over.

"You are weeping at the pathos of the air. Come here, and I will comfort
you," said Caroline, in a pitying accent. Mrs. Pryor came. She sat down
on the edge of her patient's bed, and allowed the wasted arms to
encircle her.

"You often soothe me; let me soothe you," murmured the young girl,
kissing her cheek. "I hope," she added, "it is not for me you weep?"

No answer followed.

"Do you think I shall not get better? I do not feel _very_ ill--only
weak."

"But your mind, Caroline--your mind is crushed. Your heart is almost
broken; you have been so neglected, so repulsed, left so desolate."

"I believe grief is, and always has been, my worst ailment. I sometimes
think if an abundant gush of happiness came on me I could revive yet."

"Do you wish to live?"

"I have no object in life."

"You love me, Caroline?"

"Very much--very truly--inexpressibly sometimes. Just now I feel as if I
could almost grow to your heart."

"I will return directly, dear," remarked Mrs. Pryor, as she laid
Caroline down.

Quitting her, she glided to the door, softly turned the key in the lock,
ascertained that it was fast, and came back. She bent over her. She
threw back the curtain to admit the moonlight more freely. She gazed
intently on her face.

"Then, if you love me," said she, speaking quickly, with an altered
voice; "if you feel as if, to use your own words, you could 'grow to my
heart,' it will be neither shock nor pain for you to know that _that_
heart is the source whence yours was filled; that from _my_ veins issued
the tide which flows in _yours_; that you are _mine_--my daughter--my
own child."

"Mrs. Pryor----"

"My own child!"

"That is--that means--you have adopted me?"

"It means that, if I have given you nothing else, I at least gave you
life; that I bore you, nursed you; that I am your true mother. No other
woman can claim the title; it is _mine_."

"But Mrs. James Helstone--but my father's wife, whom I do no