uninterrupted. And so it was with Cornelia. She was one day very much
delighted at being shown a little brother with which her mother had
presented her, but her joy was soon clouded by the severe illness of
that mother. She lay many long days without noticing or appearing to
know her little Cornelia, for her fever was strong, and her senses were
continually wandering.

Cornelia was almost heart-broken at this, and they could scarcely
persuade her to leave the bedside of her dear mother, for a single
moment. She would entreat and implore until she won their consent that
she should remain in the sick room; and then all night long would the
affectionate little girl watch by her mother's bed, and attentively
study her every want, wetting her parched lips and moving around her
with the lightest and most anxious footsteps.

On the seventh day of her sickness the fever approached its crisis and
there was deep silence in the little chamber, and stifled weeping, for
every one thought that death was near.

But with the night came long absent slumber, and revived the almost
dying mother, and seemed to give her back to life. What a season for
Cornelia! Through the whole night she sat by the bed listening to her
now soft and regular breathing, while hope and fear were struggling
together in her bosom. When daylight appeared the mother opened her
eyes, and turning them upon the anxious Cornelia, knew her. "I am
better, my child," said she in a clear, but feeble voice, "I am better,
and shall get well!" They then gave her drink and nourishment, and she
went to sleep again.

What joy was this for the affectionate little girl! Her heart was too