"I've done my best, indeed I've done my best for yon! How many
mothers like me would have brought you up as I've done? How many,
I'd like to know? And some day you'll hate me; oh yes, you will!
Some day you'll wish to forget all about me, and you'll never come
to see where I'm buried, and you'll get rid of everything that could
remind you of me. How I wish I'd never been born!"

Ida had often to comfort her mother in the latter's fits of low
spirits, but had never heard such sad words as these before. The
poor child could say nothing in reply; the terrible thought that she
herself was bringing new woes to be endured almost broke her heart
She clung about her mother's neck and wept passionately.

Lotty shortly after took a draught from a bottle which the child
reached out of a drawer for her, and lay pretty still till
drowsiness came on. Ida undressed and crept to her side. They had a
troubled night, and, when the daylight came again, Lotty was no
better. Ida rose in anguish of spirit, torturing herself to find a
way of telling what must be told. Yet she had another respite; her
mother said that, as it was Saturday, she might as well stay away
from school and be a little nurse. And the dull day wore through;
the confession being still postponed.

But by the last post at night came Miss Rutherford's letter. Ida was
still sitting up, and Lotty had fallen into a doze, when the
landlady brought the letter upstairs. The child took it in, answered
an inquiry about her mother in a whisper, and returned to the
bedside. She knew the handwriting on the envelope. The dreaded
moment had come.