"The first thing, mother?" She smiled at a request so unexpected, and
Mrs. Claire smiled in return, though from a different cause.
"Yes, dear. I have a reason for asking this. Now, let your thoughts run back—far back, and recall for me the very first thing you can recollect."
The countenance of Fanny grew thoughtful, then serious, and then a half-frightened look flashed over it.
"Why, mother," said she, "what can you mean? What do you want to know?"
"Your first recollection, dear?" returned Mrs. Claire, with an assuring smile, although her heart was full, and it required the most active self-control to prevent her feelings from becoming manifest in her voice.
"Well, let me see! The first? The first? I was playing on the floor with a dear little baby? It was our Edie, wasn't it?"
"Yes—so far your memory is correct. I remember the time to which you refer as perfectly as if but a week had passed. Now, dear, try if you can recall any thing beyond that."
"Beyond that, mother? Oh, why do you ask? You make me feel so strangely. Can it be that some things I have thought to be only the memory of dreams, are indeed realities?"
"What are those things, my child?"
"I have a dim remembrance of a pale, but beautiful woman who often kissed and caressed me—of being in a sick-room—of a strange confusion in the house—of riding in a carriage with father to a funeral. Mother! is there any thing in this; if so, what does it mean?"