But the physicians knew that the strength of Mrs. Lonsdale could not last—that the spark so near gone, flashing up, could last but little longer.
And the change began almost before they expected it.
We need not say that Georgiana Emeline Lonsdale was the real name of our heroine, but that was the name of the dying lady’s daughter, and that daughter was our heroine.
“Raise me up. Let me look at you. Oh, Georgiana—my dear—dear child!” gasped the mother. “I prayed but to live for this—and—God has been good. My will—here—under my pillow all the time!”
The physicians pressed forward. With a moan of sorrow Georgiana pressed that wan face to her beating heart.
“Mother—mother—live for me,” she sobbed.
“Bless—blessed—child—thank God!”
“She lives forever in a brighter world,” said the minister, with touching solemnity.
And our heroine, yet clasping that form, so dear that nothing of the past could come to mind, looked down on a smiling face frozen in the still snow of death.
Gently the kind friends removed her clasp, tenderly the good pastor said: