The stitch in Mary's side caught her again, as she went up stairs, and
almost took her breath away; and it was some time after she resumed her
work, before she could bear her body up straight on the left side.

In her damp feet and skirts, on a chilly and rainy October day, Mary
Carson sat working until nearly three o'clock, without rest or
refreshment of any kind; and when at last called to dinner, the
disordered condition of the table, and the cold, unpalatable food set
before her, extinguished, instead of stimulating her sickly appetite.
She made a feint of eating, to avoid attracting attention, and then
returned to the sewing-room, the air of which, as she re-entered,
seemed colder than that of the hall and dining-room.

The stitch in her side was not so bad during the afternoon; but the
dull pain was heavier, and accompanied by a sickening sensation. Still,
she worked on, cutting, fitting and sewing with a patience and
industry, that, considering her actual condition, was surprising. Mrs.
Lowe was in and out of the room frequently, overlooking the work, and
marking its progress. Beyond the producing power of her seamstress, she
had no thought of that individual. It did not come within the range of
her questionings whether she were well or ill--weak or
strong--exhausted by prolonged labor, or in the full possession of
bodily vigor. To her, she was simply an agent through which a certain
service was obtained; and beyond that service, she was nothing. The
extent of her consideration was limited by the progressive creation of
dresses for her children. As that went on, her thought dwelt with Miss
Carson; but penetrated no deeper. She might be human; might have an
individual life full of wants, yearnings, and tender sensibilities;
might be conscious of bodily or mental suffering--but, if so, it was in
a region so remote from that in which Mrs. Lowe dwelt, that no
intelligence thereof reached her.

At six o'clock, Mary put up her work, and, taking her bonnet and shawl,
went down stairs, intending to return home.

"You're not going?" said Mrs. Lowe, meeting her on the way. She spoke
in some surprise.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm not very well, and wish to get home."

"What time is it?" Mrs. Lowe drew out her watch. "Only six o'clock. I
think you're going rather early. It was late when you came this
morning, you know."

"Excuse me, if you please," said Miss Carson, as she moved on. "I am
not very well to-night. To-morrow I wil