When I recovered consciousness, I found myself laid on a bed to which I had been removed while insensible, the old and faithful attendant of my mother watching over me. The sight of her melted my heart, so associated was she with the days of my childhood, and with that dear mother no longer a denizen of earth. I wept long and uninterrupted, for the good Mrs. Burnet sought not to check my tears. Indeed her own fell fast, for fondly devoted to her deceased mistress, her grief at losing her was profound. She related to me every particular of the sudden and fatal illness that had snatched my mother from life. A brain fever, ⁶⁵ originating in a neglected cold, in four days, had left me an orphan.