rification, and welcome--if it ever came, was
veiled in the future; but that passionate soul-felt appeal to the
Refuge of Sinners was registered where it would return in benedictions
when the soul weary of its wanderings, sought for forgiveness and
peace--if it ever did. And, after all, ere sleep visited her eyelids,
she was plunged again in plans of petty ambition, vanity, and the pride
of life,--so impotent is the human heart, unsupported by the grace of
God.

Twelve o'clock chimed from the old French clock over the mantel, and
May, all unconscious of Helen's struggle with conscience, still waited
to hear any sound that might come from Mr. Stillinghast's chamber: but
everything remained quiet, and she was wrapping her shawl around her to
go up to bed, when she thought she heard a groan--then footsteps,
followed by a peculiar muffled sound. In a moment she was in the hall,
where she heard it more distinctly, and springing up the staircase,
rushed into her uncle's room. By some rare forgetfulness, or
bewilderment, he had left his door unfastened. The candle was still
burning, and May saw him lying on the floor, where he had fallen in his
endeavor to reach the door to call for assistance; his face purple and
swollen, and his breath gurgling up with a choking, spasmodic sound.

"Great God, help me!" cried May, throwing up her arms wildly. "He will
die before I can obtain help!" But she was not the one to stand
lamenting when aught was to be done, so, collecting her scattered
senses, she bethought herself of the watchman, who was just at that
moment crying the hour at the corner. She flew down, unlocked the
hall-door, and springing out into the freezing mist and darkness, she
found him, seized his hand, and told her story. "Go, for God's sake!
for the nearest doctor; do not delay an instant."

"Who are you, you wild witch, grabbing a fellow like a cat! Who are
you?" cried the watchman, shaking her off.

"I am the niece of old Mark Stillinghast. He is dying, I fear," she
cried, wringing her hands.

"Zounds! the old man dying! Yes, I'll go directly," said the watchman,
moving off. He had been on the beat twenty years, and felt an
individual interest in all those whose property and lives he guarded.
Then May, thankful for his promptness, remembered to have heard that
ice applications to the head were good in cases like this, and rushing
back into the yard, she groped her way to the rain-barrel, and stooping