the first; yet, when I observed her improved appearance, I thought that
the physician, as well as ourselves, might have been deceived.




CHAPTER VIII.

A BRIGHT DREAM AND PEACEFUL END.


The seeming favorable turn of my mother's disease proved, as Aunt
Patience had feared, of but short duration. She was soon again almost
entirely confined to her bed; except that, in the after-noons for the
sake of the change, she would recline for a short time upon the sofa in
the parlor. But this was only for a few days, and then she was unable to
leave her own apartment.

As I have said so little regarding my own feelings, in view of my
mother's death, the reader may be led to think that I felt less keenly
than I might have been supposed to do. If I have said little, it is for
the reason that I have no words adequate to describe what my feelings
were at the time. I felt stunned as by a heavy blow; and it seemed to me
if my mother died I certainly could not live. I had yet to learn that
grief does not kill--that is, not suddenly.

I have often since looked back to that time, and felt deeply humbled,
while thinking how little I felt resigned to the will of heaven. I could
not then, as I have since done, recognize the hand of a kind and loving
Father in the stroke. I could only feel that my mother was leaving me,