Stella was looking at her mother now—at the poor pinched face, void of all paint and powder, so different from the brilliant countenance that was familiar to her. The dying woman opened her eyes and looked at her child. She had never been an affectionate mother, but she had always been proud of her little girl's beauty. Now a new feeling arose in her heart for the first time.
"Stella," she whispered, "you must be a good girl when I am gone, and do everything your uncle tells you. He loved your father, and he will love you."
She turned her dim eyes to her brother-in-law, and he answered the look.
"She shall be as one of my own children. God helping me, I will take good care of her."
A look of satisfaction crossed the dying face, almost a look of content.
"Kiss me, my dear," she said to Stella, "and then go, for I am very tired."
Stella bent over her mother and their lips met; then the child obediently stole away.
"How she has altered!" she exclaimed to Mrs. Mudford, who was waiting for her outside. "Do you think she is very, very ill?"
"Yes, my dear, I do."
"Who is the strange doctor, Mrs. Mudford? I liked the look of him."