188 TRUE RICHES; OR,

 

‘‘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? Itwas
our Edie, wasn’t it?”

“Yes—so far your memory is correct. I remem-
ber 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?”

‘“‘T have a dim remembrance of a pale, but beau-
tiful 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 fune-
ral. Mother! is there any thing in this; if so, what
does it mean ?”

“That woman, Fanny,” said Mrs. Claire, speak-
ing with forced composure, “‘ was your mother.”

The face of the young girl grew instantly pale;
her lips parted; and she gasped for breath. Then
falling forward on the bosom of Mrs. Claire, she
sobbed—

“Qh, mother! mother! How can you say this?