Her singularly youthful aspect--her surprising beauty, to which disease and suffering had given a character of purity and tenderness almost etherial--the natural symmetry and elegance of her very arms and hands--the wonderful whiteness of her skin, which contrasted so strikingly with the raven black of her glossy hair, and the soul of thought and feeling which lay obviously expressed by the long silken eye-lashes of her closed eyes--all, when taken in at a glance, were calculated to impress a beholder with love, and sympathy, and tenderness, such as no human heart could resist.
Mave, on glancing at her mother, saw a few tears stealing, as it were, down her cheeks.
"I wish to God, my dear daughter," exclaimed the latter, in a low voice, "that I had never seen your face, lovely as it is, an' it surely would be betther for yourself that you had never been born." She then passed to the bed-side, and taking Mave's place, who withdrew, she stooped down, and placing her lips upon Sarah's white broad forehead, exclaimed--"May God bless you, my dear daughter, is the heart-felt prayer of your unhappy mother!" Sarah suddenly opened her eyes, and started.--"What is wrong?
There is something wrong.

Didn't I hear some one callin' me daughter?
Here's a strange woman--Charley Hanlon's aunt--Biddy, come here!" "Well, acushla, here I am--keep yourself quiet, achora--what is it ?" "Didn't you tell me that my mother swore my father's life away ?" "It's what they say," replied the matter-of-fact nurse.
"Then it's a lie that's come from hell itself," she replied--"Oh, if I was only up and strong as I was, let me see the man or woman that durst say so.

My mother! to become unnatural and treacherous, an' I have a mother--ha, ha--oh, how often have I thought of this--thought of what a girl I would be if I was to have a mother--how good I would be too--how kind to her--how I would love her, an' how she would love me, an' then my heart would sink when I'd think of home--ay, an' when Nelly would spake cruelly an' harshly to me I'd feel as if I could kill her, or any one." Her eye here caught Mave Sullivan's, and she again started.
"What is this ?" she exclaimed; "am I still in the shed?
Mave Sullivan!--help me up, Biddy." "I am here, dear Sarah," replied the gentle girl--"I am here; keep yourself quiet and don't attempt to sit up; you're not able to do it." The composed and serene aspect of Mave, and the kind, touching tones of her voice, seemed to operate favorably upon her, and to aid her in collecting her confused and scattered thoughts into something like order.
"Oh, dear Mave," said she, "what is this?
What has happened?
Isn't there something wrong?
I'm confused.

Have I a mother?
Have I a livin' mother, that will love me ?" Her large eyes suddenly sparkled with singular animation as she asked the last question, and Mave thought it was the most appropriate moment to make the 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.