present. I see her with her loving heart full of emotion kissing my
father. I see her in the ballroom, the most graceful figure present.

I remember how every half-hour she came to speak to me and see if I were
happy, and once, when she thought I was warm and tired, she took my hand
and led me into the beautiful cool conservatory, where we sat and talked
until I had grown cool again. I see her talking with queenly grace and
laughing eyes, no one forgotten or neglected, partners found for the
least attractive girls, while the sunshine of her presence was
everywhere. She led a cotillion. I remember seeing her stand waiting the
signal, the very type of grace and beauty.

Oh, my darling, if I were with you! As I saw her then I never saw her
more.

I was present the next morning when my father and mother discussed the
ball.

"How well you looked, Beatrice," said my father.

"How well I felt," she replied. "I am quite sure, Roland, that I enjoy
dancing far better now than I did before I was married. I should like
dancing parties a little oftener; they are much more amusing than your
solemn dinner parties."

But, ah me! the dancing feet were soon to be stilled; all the rest of
that summer there was something mysterious--every one was so solicitous
about my mother--they seemed to think of nothing but her health. She was
gay and charming herself, laughing at the fuss, anxiety and care. Sir
Roland was devoted to her; he never left her. She took no more rides now