"It is her face! It is her face!"
"And you are Daniel Yates' mother. How I shall love you! Oh, how I loved him!"
Then the old woman's face began to quiver, and her large gray eyes filled with the slow tears old age gives out with such pain.
"Yes, child, you must love me a little for your mother's sake."
"And for the sake of that good man, your son, who was a father to me. How often he has told me that, if there was anything grand or good in him, it came from the best mother that ever lived! 'Some day,' he once said, 'God may be merciful and let you know her. Then remember that she has nothing left but you.' I do remember it, and no child ever loved a grandmother better than I will love you."
The old woman lifted up her head from the gentle embrace thus offered her, and turned to her dead mistress.
A smile, soft as that hovering about that cold mouth, came to her lips and eyes.
"God is very good to me. Are the angels telling you of it, my old mistress, that you smile so?"