y such as the one he was now called to face.

As for Matt, he sat in the silent kitchen with his feet on the
fender and an unlighted pipe between his teeth. The morning sun
had long since crossed the moors, but its light brought no joy to
his eyes--with him, all was darkness. He heard overhead the
occasional tread of the doctor's foot, and the movements of the
ministering women, while occasionally one of them would steal
quietly down for something needed by the patient above. Between
these breaks--welcome breaks to Matt--the silence became
distressful, and the suspense a burden. Why that hush? What was
going on in those fearful pauses? Could they not tell him how
Miriam was? Was he not her husband, and had he not a right to know
of her who was his own? By what right did the women--good and kind
though they were--step in between himself and her whom he loved
dearer than life? And as these questions pressed him he rose to
climb the stairway and claim a share in ministering to the
sufferings of the one who was his own. But when he reached the
foot he paused, his nerve forsook him, and he trembled like a leaf
beneath the breeze. Straining his ear, he listened, but no sound
came save a coaxing and encouraging word from the old nurse, or a
brief note of instruction from Dr. Hale. Should he call her by her
name? Should he address her as Merry, the pet name which he only
addressed to her? He opened his lips, but his tongue lay heavy. He
could scarcely move it, and as he moved it in his attempt to
speak, he heard its sound as it parted from, or came in contact
with, the dry walls of his mouth. How long he could have borne
this suspense it would be hard to say, had he not heard his
mother's voice at the kitchen-door calling.

'Is that yo', mother?' said Matt, dragging himself from the foot
of the stairway leading to the chamber above. 'Is that yo'?'

'Ey, Matt, whatever's to do wi' thee; aw never see thee look like
that afore. Is Miriam bad, or summat?'

'Nay, mother, they willn't tell me. But go yo' upstairs, and when
you've sin for yorsel come daan and tell me.'

Old Deborah took her son's advice, and went upstairs to where the
suffering woman lay pale and prostrate. She saw, by a glance at
the doctor's face, that he was more than anxious, while the mute
signs of the nurse and Malachi o' th' Mount's wife confirmed her
worst suspicions.

During his mother's absence there returned on Matt the horrible
suspense which her