That evening, after my mother had partaken of a little light
refreshment, she seemed inclined to sleep. I took up a book and tried to
become interested in its pages. As my mother now seemed to enjoy a
peaceful slumber, I remember I thought her dreams must have been happy
ones, for I often noticed a smile upon her countenance. I think she had
slept nearly two hours, when she awoke, and requested me to give her a
drink. I supported her upon my arm as I held to her lips a glass in
which I had mixed some wine and water. Laying her gently back upon her
pillows I enquired if I could do anything farther for her comfort? She
replied that she felt quite comfortable; and, thinking that she might
again fall asleep, I resumed my reading. After remaining quiet for
sometime she softly called my name. As I stepped hastily to her
bed-side, she said,--
"Come and sit near me, Clara, I have something to say to you."
Obedient to her request, I drew my chair near to her bedside, and seated
myself. She clasped my hand in both hers, as she said,--
"My dear Clara, I have long wished to ask you if you are aware that I
must soon leave you?"
As she said these words the grief of my overburdened heart defied
control, and, burying my face in her pillows I sobbed convulsively.
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