Charlotte had now been three days with her humane preservers, but she was totally insensible of every thing:  she raved incessantly for Montraville and her father:  she was not conscious of being a mother, nor took the least notice of her child except to ask whose it was, and why it was not carried to its parents.

“Oh,” said she one day, starting up on hearing the infant cry, “why, why will you keep that child here; I am sure you would not if you knew how hard it was for a mother to be parted from her infant:  it is like tearing the cords of life asunder.  Oh could you see the horrid sight which I now behold—­there there stands my dear mother, her poor bosom bleeding at every vein, her gentle, affectionate heart torn in a thousand pieces, and all for the loss of a ruined, ungrateful child.  Save me save me—­from her frown.  I dare not—­indeed I dare not speak to her.”

Such were the dreadful images that haunted her distracted mind, and nature was sinking fast under the dreadful malady which medicine had no power to remove.  The surgeon who attended her was a humane man; he exerted his utmost abilities to save her, but he saw she was in want of many necessaries and comforts, which the poverty of her hospitable host rendered him unable to provide:  he therefore determined to make her situation known to some of the officers’ ladies, and endeavour to make a collection for her relief.

When he returned home, after making this resolution, he found a message from Mrs. Beauchamp, who had just arrived from Rhode-Island, requesting he would call and see one of her children, who was very unwell.  “I do not know,” said he, as he was hastening to obey the summons, “I do not know a woman to whom I could apply with more hope of success than Mrs. Beauchamp.  I will endeavour to interest her in this poor girl’s behalf, she wants the soothing balm of friendly consolation:  we may perhaps save her; we will try at least.”

“And where is she,” cried Mrs. Beauchamp when he had prescribed something for the child, and told his little pathetic tale, “where is she, Sir? we will go to her immediately.  Heaven forbid that I should be deaf to the calls of humanity.  Come we will go this instant.”  Then seizing the doctor’s arm, they sought the habitation that contained the dying Charlotte.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

Which people void of feeling need not read.

When Mrs. Beauchamp entered the apartment of the poor sufferer, she started back with horror.  On a wretched bed, without hangings and but poorly supplied with covering, lay the emaciated figure of what still retained the semblance of a lovely woman, though sickness had so altered her features that Mrs. Beauchamp had not the least recollection of her person.  In one corner of the room stood a woman washing, and, shivering over a small fire, two healthy but half