become slightly delirious.
During the second night, this active stage of the disease continued;
but all the worst symptoms subsided towards morning. Daylight found
him sleeping quietly, with a cool moist skin, and a low, regular
pulse. Towards mid-day he awoke; but the anxiety that came with
thought brought back many of the unfavorable symptoms, and he was
worse again towards evening. On the third day he was again better,
but so weak as to be unable to sit up.
How greatly did old Mr. Lofton miss the gentle girl, who had become
almost as dear to him as a child, during this brief illness, brought
on by her strange absence. No hand could smooth his pillow like
hers. No presence could supply her place by his side. He was
companionless, now that she was away; and his heart reached vainly
around for something to lean upon for support.
On the fourth day he was better, and sat up a little. But his
anxiety for Jenny was increasing. Where could she be? He read her
brief letter over and over again.
"May not return for weeks," he said, as he held the letter in his
hand. "Where can she have gone? Foolish child! Why did she not
consult with me? I would have advised her for the best."
Late on the afternoon of that day, Jenny, in company with Mark, the
latter in the dress of a seaman in the United States service, passed
from a steamboat at the landing near Fairview, and took their way
towards the mansion of Mr. Lofton. They had not proceeded far,
before the young man began to linger, while Jenny showed every
disposition to press on rapidly. At length Mark stopped.
"Jenny," said he, while a cloud settled on his face, "you've had
your own way up to this moment. I've been passive in your hands. But
I can't go on with you any further."
"Don't say that," returned Jenny, her voice almost imploring in its
tones. And in the earnestness of her desire to bring Mark back to
his grandfather, she seized one of his hands, and, by a gentle
force, drew him a few paces in the direction they had been going.
But he resisted that force, and they stood still again.
"I don't think I can go back, Jenny," said Mark, in a subdued voice:
"I have some pride left, much as has been crushed out of me during
the period of my absence, and this rises higher and higher in my
heart the nearer I approach my grandfather. How can I meet him!"
"Only come into his presence, Mark," urged Jenny, speaking tenderly
and familiarly. She had addressed him as Mr.
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