in her chair, and making no sound but a moan, cast her eyes upon her with a wide stare.20417

‘Aye!’ cried Rosa, smiting herself passionately on the breast, ‘look at me! Moan, and groan, and look at me! Look here!’ striking the scar, ‘at your dead child’s handiwork!’

The moan the mother uttered, from time to time, went to My heart.

Always the same. Always inarticulate and stifled. Always accompanied with an incapable motion of the head, but with no change of face. Always proceeding from a rigid mouth and closed teeth, as if the jaw were locked and the face frozen up in pain.

‘Do you remember when he did this?’ she proceeded. ‘Do you remember when, in his