But Alice, though quick and impulsive in temper, was affectionate and loving; and her heart upbraided her. From time to time she glanced uneasily at the unmoving figure in the old arm-chair. It seemed to her that a strange grayness was stealing over those aged features. Surely she thought, as she looked at her, she had grown old since the morning; and was it her unkindness that had wrought the sudden change?
She thought of all her patient love and tender care; she thought of all she had suffered, and all she had lost—her parents, her husband, her only child; and her warm but hasty little heart swelled in pitying and repentant tenderness. How still she sat, so motionless! oh, if she would only move her head—her hand! And her usually erect figure, how drooping! There was something awful in her unnatural silence and stillness. Oh, what if her unkindness had broken that true and loving heart! what if she were palsy-smitten, and would never move again—never again speak to her! At this terrible thought, Alice left her seat, and drew nearer to that sad and silent figure. She laid her
