Page:The Indian Orphan.pdf/4

Rh I believed her to be yet sleeping, but her eyes wide open and bent on me, tempted me to kiss her; even at this moment the chill of that touch is upon my lips. For the first time I shrank from her; I spoke, but she answered not; I took her cold hand, but instantly loosed it: it fell from mine—she had said she was dying—could this be death? I felt a wild, vague conviction that we were separated for ever; but the very despair of separation brought with it the hope of reunion; I might die too. I was repeating, with incoherent rapidity, "My mother, let me die with you!" one arm round the neck of the corpse, the other fanning backwards and forwards, to keep away the flies, and my cheek resting upon hers, when the door of the hut opened, and a stranger entered. I looked up with wonder, not unmixed with pleasure: the splendour of his scarlet and gold dress, the white waving plumes of his helmet, soon attracted a child's attention; but child as I was, one glance at his face fastened my gaze. The deep crimson of exercise had given place to a hue of ghastly whiteness; every feature was convulsed; his deep broken sobs as he sat by the bed, his face covered with his hands, yet startle my memory: at last I remembered my mother's words, and hesitatingly approached him, and repeated them. He started, and clasped me in his arms. I felt his tears on my face; he seemed kind, yet fear was my principal sensation, as wringing my hands and my mother's together, he said in words scarcely audible: "Abra, my care of our child shall