For weeks past her cup of misery had been filling, and as each drop of sorrow entered the goblet of her life, so did all sense of what was happy and lovely depart from her heart.

She was, indeed, a breathing figure of all that could be conceived miserable and unhappy.

The flowers that bloomed in the Spring time of her happy years, had withered in the winter of her wretched weeks, and over the whole garden of her life, nothing but the dead and scentless petals remained, to tell of what was once a paradise of affection--a blooming image of love.
As she walked on she discovered that the child she carried in her arms had fainted.

She paused not for consideration, but observing a light in a small cabin near by, she hurriedly bent her steps towards it, and entered through the half opened door.

It was the home of an aged negro woman, and who looked up much surprised at the intrusion.
"Here, auntie," Mrs.Wentworth said hastily, "give me some water quickly, my child has fainted." "Goodness, gracious, what could ha' made you bring dem children to dis part of de town dis time o' night," exclaimed the old negress, as she hastened to do the bidding of Mrs.Wentworth, who had already placed the inanimate body of Ella on the negro's humble bed.
The water being brought, Mrs.Wentworth sprinkled it upon the face of the child, but without avail.