"A great deal depends on circumstances. When a mother loses her only child, or one of two, it may reasonably be assumed that she feels the loss far more than she would do if she had other children left to comfort her. Again, where a child loses its mother while still at a tender age, it is not to be expected that the loss can seem such an irreparable one as it would do at a later period, when it is old enough not only to appreciate her love, but to reciprocate it in full measure." "It was my misfortune to lose my mother when I was at a very tender age," said Anna presently, in a low voice. "It was. You were barely five years old when she died. I suppose you remember very little about her?" "Not a great deal. I seem to see her nearly always as an invalid, lying either on a couch or in bed. I have an impression that she was very fond of me, but that I was told I must not make a noise when in her room, nor stay with her too long at a time." "I suppose it has been a source of never ending regret to you that you lost her at such an early age?" She was watching Anna keenly from between her narrowed lids. "Of never ending regret?"--with a little surprise in her tone. "No, Tetta, scarcely that, I think. How could it be? At that age our regrets are nearly as fleeting as our joys. I was too young to sound the depths of sorrow, or to allow of any loss touching me very deeply for longer than a few passing hours." "Still, you often thought of her--often do now, perhaps--and have felt that by her death a void was left in your life which nothing else could fill; and have longed to have her with you, that you might pour your troubles and confidences into her sympathetic ear, for, to a daughter, whose ear is like her mother's?" For a little while Anna went on stitching in silence. Her brows were knitted, her face wore an expression of dubiety. Presently she said: "Yes, I have often thought about my poor dead mother, and have sometimes wondered, if she had lived, how she and I would have got on together; perhaps not so well as you and I have, Tetta. But I can't say that I have ever felt about her as you seem to think I ought to have done. Was it wrong and wicked of me not to have those feelings? If it was, I cannot help it. I did not make myself." Again there was a space of silence which Mrs. Jenwyn did not break. All her attention was apparently being given to her work, but a close observer might have seen that her hands were trembling slightly, and that more than once she dropped her stitches. Presently Anna spoke again.