"I cannot give up my child, doctor. Oh, I cannot give up my child!
It will break my heart!" she replied, her voice rising and trembling
more and more at each sentence, until it gave way, and the hot tears
came raining over her face, and falling upon the insensible cheek of
her child.

"'The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away,' Mrs. Gaston. Can you
not look up, even in this sore affliction, and say, 'Blessed be the
name of the Lord?' It is your only hope. An arm of flesh cannot
support you now. You must look to the Strong for strength."

As Doctor R--thus urged her to reason and duty, the tears of the
bereaved mother gradually ceased to flow. She grew calmer, and
regained, in some degree, her self-possession. As she did so, she
slowly disengaged her arm from the body of her child, placed its
head, as carefully as if it had been asleep, upon the pillow, and
then arose, and stood with her hands tightly clasped across her
forehead.

"I am but a weak woman, doctor, and you must bear with me," said
she, in a changed voice. "I used to have fortitude; but I feel that
I am breaking fast. I am not what I was."

The last two sentences were spoken in a tone so sad and mournful,
that the doctor could scarcely keep back the tears.

"You have friends here, I suppose," he remarked, "who will be with
you on this afflicting occasion?"