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, turning to Mave, and extending her arms towards her, "Mave Sullivan, let me die!" The affectionate but disappointed girl had all Mave's sympathies, whose warm and affectionate feelings recoiled from the coldness and apparent want of natural tenderness which characterized the mother's manner, under circumstances in themselves so affecting.