near, Mrs. Moore had but one prayer in her heart, and that was that her
life might be spared till her child's troubles were over. Since Anna's
illness in the early spring, she had utterly disregarded herself. No
complaint was heard to pass her lips. Her time was spent in one
unselfish effort to make her daughter's life less painful. But the
strain of it was telling, and she knew that life with her was but the
question of weeks, perhaps days. As her physical grasp grew weaker,
her mental hold increased proportionately, and she determined to live
till she had either closed her child's eyes in death, or left her with
something for which to struggle, as she herself was now struggling.

But the poor mother's last wish was not to be granted. In the
beginning of September, just when the earth was full of golden promise
of autumn, she felt herself going. She felt the icy hand of death at
her heart and the grim destroyer whispered in her ear: "Make ready."
Oh, the anguish of going just then, when she was needed so sorely by
her deceived and deserted child.

"Anna, darling," she called feebly, "I cannot be with you; I am
going--I have prayed to stay, but it was not to be. Your child will
comfort you, darling. There is nothing like a child's love, Anna, to
make a woman forget old sorrows--kiss me, dear----" She was gone.

And so Anna was to go down into the valley of the shadow of death
alone, and among strangers.




CHAPTER VIII.