nd almost affright. But when Kate, a
quarter of an hour afterwards, brought her book and sat down beside me,
I could not tell her about it, for laughing.

The little girl is in sight now. She is standing near the porch, talking
to some other children, gesticulating, and shaking her curls. Probably
she was a deputy from them, to obtain a solution of the mystery of my
motionless limbs. They half believe I am the veritable Prince of the
Black Isles! They alternately listen to her and turn to stare at me; so
I know that I am the subject of their confab.

Some one is passing them now,--a lady. She pauses to listen. She, too,
glances this way with a sad smile. She comes slowly down the avenue. A
graceful, queenly form, and lovely face! She has drunk of the waters,
and is gone.

Mary, do you know that gentle girl has added the last drop of bitterness
to my cup? My lot has become unbearable. I gnash my teeth with impotent
rage and despair.

I _will_ not be the wreck I am! My awakening manhood scorns the thought
of being forever a helpless burden to others. I _demand_ my health, and
all my rights and privileges as a man,--to work,--to support others,--to
bear the burden and heat of the day! Never again can I be content in my
easy couch and my sister's shady grove!

Ah, Dr. G., you have indeed roused me from apathy! I am in torture, and
Heaven only knows whether on this side of the grave I shall ever find
peace again!

Poor Kate reads my heart, and weeps daily in secret. Brave Kate, who
shed so few tears over her own grief!

VII.

C---- Springs. August.

I so continually speak of my illness, Mary, that I fear you have
good right to think me that worst kind of bore, a hypochondriac. But
something is now going on with me that raises all my hopes and fears. I
dare not speak of it to Kate, lest she should be too sanguine, and be
doomed to suffer again the crush of all her hopes.

I really feel that I could not survive disappointment, should I ever
entertain positive hope of cure. Neither can I endure this suspense
without asking some one's opinion. There is no medical man here in whom
I have confidence, and so I go to you, as a child does to its mother in
its troubles, not knowing what she can do for it, but relying upon her
to do something.

I will explain what it is that excites me to such an agony of dread and
expectation. When the little girl asked me to let her see my marble
limbs, supposing me the Prince of the