ened room, the unbroken silence, the figure of him in whom was
centred her every thought and hope, lying sick before her, sank with
a dreary weight upon her heart; and in the gloom of her sorrow dark
foreboding of future evil arose, vague terrors of trials, new and
hard to bear! That strange prescience, which never is wanting in great
afflictions, and seems itself a Heaven-sent warning to prepare for the
coming blow, revealed a time of sore trouble and calamity before her.
"Let him be but spared to me," she cried, in her heart-uttered prayer,
"and let me be so fashioned in spirit and temper that I may minister to
him through every hour,--cheering, consoling, and encouraging; giving of
_my_ youth its gift of hopefulness and trust, and borrowing of _his_ age
its serenity and resignation. But oh that I may not be left solitary and
alone, unfriended and unsupported!" A gush of tears, the first she shed,
here burst forth, and, in the transport of her grief, brought calm to
her mind once more.

A low tap at the window, and a voice in whisper aroused her. "It is the
doctor, miss,--Dr. Tiernay," said the gardener.

A motion to admit him was all her reply, and with noiseless step the
physician entered and approached the sofa. He felt the pulse, and
listened to the respiration of the sick man; and then, withdrawing
the curtain so as to let the light fall upon his features, steadily
contemplated their expression. As he looked, his own countenance grew
graver and sadder; and it was with an air of deep solemnity that he took
Mary's hand and led her from the room.

With a weight like lead upon her heart Mary moved away. "When did it
happen?" whispered he, when he had closed the door behind them.

"Happen!" gasped she, in agony; "what do you mean?"

"I meant when--this--occurred," replied he, faltering; "was he in his
usual health this morning?"

"Yes, perfectly,--a little less composed; anxious about his letters;
uneasy at the delay,--but no more."

"You do not know if he received any unpleasant tidings, or heard
anything to distress him?"

"He may have done so," answered she, sadly, "for he locked his door and
read over his letters by himself. When I saw him next, he was standing
at the window, and beckoning to me."

A gentle tap at the door here interrupted the colloquy, and the old
housekeeper whispered, "The master, miss, wants to spake with the
doctor; he's better now."

"Oh, let me see him," cried Mary, springing to