Then she raised her left hand to
her brow, sighed, and seemed sinking into a tranquil sleep. "Mother!
mother! I am once more with my mother!" again ejaculates the fair
girl, sobbing audibly; "do you not know me, mother?" Clotilda
started as if suddenly surprised. "Do I dream?" she muttered,
raising herself on her elbow, as her great soft eyes wandered about
the room. She would know who called her mother. "'Tis me," said the
fair girl, returning her glances, "do you not know your Annette-your
slave child?" Indeed the fair girl was not of that bright
countenance she had anticipated meeting, for though the punishment
had little soiled her flesh the dagger of disgrace had cut deep into
her heart, and spread its poison over her soul. "This my Annette!"
exclaimed Clotilda, throwing her arms about the fair girl's neck,
drawing her frantically to her bosom, and bathing her cheeks with
her tears of joy. "Yes, yes, 'tis my long-lost child; 'tis she for
whom my soul has longed-God has been merciful, rescued her from the
yawning death of slavery, and given her back to her mother! Oh, no,
I do not dream-it is my child,--my Annette!" she continued. Long and
affectionately did they mingle their tears and kisses. And now a
fond mother's joy seemed complete, a child's sorrow ended, and a
happy family were made happier. Again the family gathered into the
room, where, as of one accord, they poured out their affectionate
congratulations. One after another were the children enjoined to
greet Annette, kiss her, and call her sister.
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