increased violently; she threw herself down by the bedside and sobs
shook her.

"Mother, mother, it have all been hateful, hateful," she moaned. "And
oh, mother, why did you burn my book?"

There was no answer. The white thin hand rested with a certain tremble
on the girl's thick hair.

"Why did you burn my book, that gave me pleasure, mother?" said Bet,
raising her head, and speaking with her old defiance.

"I thought," began Mrs. Granger,--"mebbe I did wrong,--mebbe I were
too 'ard. Him that knows best will forgive me."

"Oh, mother, mother! I forgive you from the bottom of my heart."

Bet took one of the thin hands, and covered it with passionate kisses.

"I ain't good," she said, "and I don't want to die. It floors me,
mother, how you can be glad to go down into the grave and stay there--
ugh!"

"I ain't going to stay there," replied the dying woman, in a faint
though confident voice.

She was silent then for a few moments, but there was a shining,
satisfied light in her eyes; and her lips opened once or twice, as if
to speak. Bet held one of her hands firmly, and her own eager hungry
eyes never stirred from the dying, tired-out face.