hs of such unremitting pain,
steadily on the increase, was appalling; but mother faced the prospect
without a murmur, willing to bear by God's grace what He should inflict,
and to wait His good time for deliverance. I was filled with
self-reproach, for I should have been with her months before.

In a few days my mother-in-law and one of her daughters came to see how
long I proposed to stay, why I had left James with the goods, and when I
would go and take charge of them. They had had a letter from him, and he
was in great trouble. She was gentle and grave--inquired minutely about
our nursing, but thought it expensive--dwelt at length on the folly of
spending time and money in caring for the sick when recovery was
impossible. Mother could not see them, and they were offended, for they
proposed helping to take care of her, that I might return to my duty.

Some time after the visit of my mother-in-law, her son-in-law--who was a
class-leader and a man of prominence in the community--came with solemn
aspect, took my hand, sighed, and said:

"I heard you had left James with the goods." Here he sighed again,
wagged his head, and added:

"But I couldn't believe it!" and without another word turned and walked
away.

They chose to regard mother's illness as a personal grievance. "The way
of the transgressor is hard;" and she, having sinned against the saints,
must bear her iniquity, and thus suffer the just reward of her deeds.

I had frequent letters from my husband, and he was waiting on the wharf,
watching every boat for my appearance. I told him before leaving
Louisville, that I never would return--never again would try to live in
a slave State, and advised him to sell the goods at auction, and with
the money start a sawmill up the Allegheny river, and I would go to him.
This advice he resented. At length he grew tired waiting, and came for
me. It is neither possible nor necessary here to describe the trouble
which ensued, but I would not nor did not leave mother, and she at last
remembered the protection to which she was entitled by the city
government.

With all mother's courage, her moans were heartbreaking. No opiate then
known could bring one half-hour of any sleep in which they ceased, and
in her waking hours the burden of her woe found vent in a low refrain:

"My Father! is it not enough?"

Our principal care was to guard her from noise. The click of a knife or
spoon on a plate or cup in the adjoining room, s