“It's what they say,” replied the matter-of-fact nurse.
“Then it's a lie that's come from hell itself,” she replied—“Oh, if I was only up and strong as I was, let me see the man or woman that durst say so. My mother! to become unnatural and treacherous, an' I have a mother—ha, ha—oh, how often have I thought of this—thought of what a girl I would be if I was to have a mother—how good I would be too—how kind to her—how I would love her, an' how she would love me, an' then my heart would sink when I'd think of home—ay, an' when Nelly would spake cruelly an' harshly to me I'd feel as if I could kill her, or any one.”
Her eye here caught Mave Sullivan's, and she again started.
“What is this?” she exclaimed; “am I still in the shed? Mave Sullivan!—help me up, Biddy.”
“I am here, dear Sarah,” replied the gentle girl—“I am here; keep yourself quiet and don't attempt to sit up; you're not able to do it.”
The composed and serene aspect of Mave, and the kind, touching tones of her voice, seemed to operate favorably upon her, and to aid her in collecting her confused and scattered thoughts into something like order.
“Oh, dear Mave,” said she, “what is this? What has happened? Isn't there something wrong? I'm confused. Have I a mother? Have I a livin' mother, that will love me?”
Her large eyes suddenly sparkled with singular animation as she asked the last question, and Mave thought it was the most appropriate moment to make the mother known to her.
“You have, dear Sarah, an' here she is waitin' to clasp you to her heart, an' give you her blessin'.”
“Where?” she exclaimed, starting up in her bed, as if in full health; “my mother! where?—where?”