hers; the tender mouth, which had never spoken a harsh or unkind word,
seemed almost to quiver as if in life. So kind, so loving, so faithful,
so patient, always ready to sympathize, to help, to smile with one's joy
or to comfort one's grief,--her own dear, dear mother! A mist came
before the girl's eyes. She gazed at the miniature till she could no
longer see it; and then, flinging herself down on the pillow again, she
burst into a passion of tears, and sobbed and wept as if her heart would
break. No longer Queen Hildegardis, no longer the outraged and indignant
"prisoner," only Hilda,--Hilda who wanted her mother!

Finally she sobbed herself to sleep,--which was the very best thing she
could have done. By and by Dame Hartley peeped softly in, and seeing the
child lying "all in a heap," as she said to herself, with her pretty
hair all tumbled about, brought a shawl and covered her carefully up,
and went quietly away.

"Pretty lamb!" said the good woman. "She'll sleep all the afternoon now,
like enough, and wake up feeling a good bit better,--though I fear it
will be a long time before your girlie feels at home with Nurse Lucy,
Miss Mildred, dear!"

Sure enough, Hilda did sleep all the afternoon; and the soft summer
twilight was closing round the farm-house when she woke with a start
from a dream of home.

"Mamma!" she called quickly, raising herself from the bed. For one
moment she stared in amazement at the strange room, with its unfamiliar
furnishing; but recollection came only too quickly. She started up as a
knock was heard at the door, and Dame Hartley's voice said: