t last, he came home from the store of Mr. Melleville, at the usual
tea-time, feeling so unwell that he was forced to lie down. He had no
appetite for supper, and merely sipped part of a cup of tea brought to
him by his wife as he still reclined upon the bed.

"Don't get up," said Edith, seeing her husband, after he had lain for
some time, about to rise.

"I can't lie here any longer; it's nearly seven o'clock now."

"You're not going out to-night!"

"O yes; I must be at the store. There is no one to take my place, and
the sales will begin by the time I can get there."

"But you are too sick to go out, Edward."

"I feel much better than I did, Edith. This little rest has refreshed
me a great deal."

"No--no, Edward! You must not go away," said his wife in a distressed
voice. "You are sick now, and the extra exertion of an evening may
throw you into a serious illness."

"I feel a great deal better, dear," urged Claire. "But, sick or well,
I must be there to-night, for the sale cannot go on without me. If I
do not feel better to-morrow, I will ask Mr. F---- to get some one,
temporarily, in my place."

Still Edith opposed, but in vain.

By the time Claire arrived at the auction store, his head was
throbbing with a pain so intense that he could scarcely see. Still, he
resolutely persevered in his determination to go through, if possible,
with the duties of the evening; and so, taking his place at his desk,
as the auctioneer went upon the stand to cry the goods which had
been advertised for sale, he prepared to keep the usual record of
purchasers and prices. This he was able to do for half an hour, when
overtaxed and exhausted nature could bear up no longer.

"Mr. Claire," said the auctioneer, as he took in hand a new article,
"did you make that last entry?--Mr. Jackson, ten cents a yard."

Claire's head had fallen over on the book in which he had been
writing, and the auctioneer, supposing him only yielding to a
momentary feeling of fatigue, or indolence, thus called his attention
to his duties.

But Claire made no answer.

"Say! young man! Are you asleep!" The auctioneer spoke now with some
sharpness of tone; but, as before, his words were not heeded.

"What's the matter, Mr. Claire? Are you sick?"

Still no response or movement.

"Mr. Claire! Bless me!" The auctioneer was now by his side, with his
hand on him. "Bring some water, quick! He's fainted--or is dead! Here!
some one help me to lay him down.