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Dora Deane; Or, The East India Uncle

Dora Deane; Or, The East India Uncle

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Chapter 1 DORA AND HER MOTHER.

Word Count: 1318    |    Released on: 01/12/2017

arm the little bit of worn-out flannel, with which to wrap her mother's feet; and how hard she tried to force back the te

its sweet wild flowers, its running brooks, and its shady trees, she knew but little, for only once had she looked on all these things, and then her heart was very sad, for the bright green grass was broken, and the sweet wild flowers were trampled down, that a grave might be made in the dark, moist earth for her father, who had died in early ma

ess window, seemed to take a sadder tone, as if in pity for the little girl who knelt upon the hearthstone, and wi

t my mother!" she murmured. "Oh, let

om the rude couch, and in an instan

and pushing the soft auburn hair from off her fair, open

so, for it may be Sarah will love you better when she sees in you a

to see him again as he was on the day when, with the wreath of white apple blossoms upon her brow, she sat on the mossy bank and listened to his low spoken words of love. Again she was out in the pale starlight, and heard the autumn wind go moaning through the locust trees as Nathaniel, the strange, eccentric, woman-hating Nathaniel, but just returned from the seas, told her how madly he had loved her, and how the knowledge that she belonged to another would drive him from his fatherland forever-that in the bur

d then, as if she had all the time been speaking to her daughter, she continued, "And you mus

, "Have you written to Aunt Sa

told her there was no alternative but the almshouse;" then, after a pause, she added: "I wrote to your uncle Nathaniel some months ago

ncle Nathaniel, or "Uncle Nat," as he was more familiarly called, p

tell him that on my dying bed I thought of him with affection-that my mind wandered back to the years of long ago, when I was young, and ask him,

room, broken only by the sound of the wailing tempest. The old year was going out on the wings of a fearful storm, and as the driving sleet beat against the casement, while

dying coals she knelt, trying to warm the bit of flannel, on which her burning tears fell like rain, wh

he long-sleeved apron which covered her own naked arms, and laying it over her mother's shoulders, tucked in the thin bedclothes; and then, herself

he pillow and fell asleep. And to the angels, who were hovering near, waiting to bear their sister spirit home, there was given charge concerning the little girl, so that s

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