It was long before Margaret could be forced to leave her mother’s chamber, and then no one knew what to do with a child so lost in woe, until, at last, her old nurse, Hildreth, without venturing a single word of consolation, just lifted and bore her away from them all--bore her up to an old quiet attic, a sort of “chamber of desolation,” where she sat down and held her--still never breathing a word--only making of her own embracing arms a physical support for the fainting form, and her affectionate bosom a pillow for the weeping head. And so she held her for hours while she moaned and wept. “Oh, mother, come back to me! I cannot bear it--I cannot! Oh, God, have mercy! Send her back to me! Thou canst do all things, dear God--send her back!” And sometimes: “Oh, mother! do you hear me? are you near me? where are you? Oh, take me with you! take me with you! I am your child, your heart’s child! I cannot live without you, I cannot! Oh, my mother, call me after you--call me, mother! Don’t you hear me--don’t you hear your child? Oh, mother, can’t you answer me--can’t you answer your child? Oh, no--you cannot--you cannot! and I am growing crazy!” And other wild words like these; to all of which old Hildreth listened without making any expostulation, uttering any rebuke, or offering any vain words of comfort. At last, when exhausted nature succumbed to a deep and trance-like sleep, old Hildreth carried her down and tenderly undressed and put her to bed, and sat watching hours while she slept. The next morning, when Margaret opened her eyes, her grief awoke afresh. She wished to fly immediately to the side of her mother. But this was strictly forbidden. At last, partly because she had already shed such floods of tears, and partly because she made almost superhuman efforts to control herself, she restrained the outward expression of her grief, and went to Mrs. Houston and said: “Let me see my mother. If you do not, I shall die. But if you do, I will be very quiet, I will not make a moan, nor shed a tear, nor utter a single complaint. Consider--when the coffin is once closed I shall never--never see her face or hold her hand again! Even now I can never more hear her voice or meet her eyes; but I can look upon her face, and hold her hands, and kiss her; but in a little while I cannot even do that. Consider then how precious, how priceless is every moment of a time so short; and let me go.” Margaret spoke with so much self-control and forced calmness that her words and manner were strangely formal. And Mrs. Houston, deceived by them, consented to her wish.