throat and chin.

I did not understand her then--I thought they were bruises received in
life--and wondered what she meant as well as I could conjecture at such
a time of bewilderment; but still I resolutely refused to leave my dear
one's side, sobbing passionately when Mr. Lodore came in to take me away
at last, in obedience to Dr. Pemberton's orders.

"Come, Miriam, this will never do," he said. "Grief must have its way,
but reason must be listened to as well. You have been ill yourself, and
your friends are anxious about you; if your mamma could speak to you,
she would ask you to go to your chamber and seek repose. Nay, more, she
would tell you that, for all the thrones of the earth, she would not
come back if she could, and forsake her angel estate."

"Not even to see her baby?" I asked, through my blinding tears. "O Mr.
Lodore, you must be mistaken about that; you are wrong, if you are a
preacher, for she told me lately she valued her life chiefly for its
sake; and I heard her praying one night to be spared to raise it up to
womanhood.--Mamma! mamma! you would come back to us I know, if God would
let you, but you cannot, you cannot; He is so strong, so cruel! and He
holds you fast." And I sobbed afresh, covering up my face.

"Miriam, what words are these?--Mr. Monfort, I am pleased that you have
come. It is best for your little daughter to retire; she is greatly
moved and excited;" and, yielding to my father's guidance and
persuasion, I went passively from the presence of the dead, into which
came, a moment later, the hushed crowd of her church-people and our few
private friends, assembled to witness her obsequies.