dered all over Grandison Place when it was a deserted
mansion. No one saw me, for it is far back from the street, all
embosomed in shade, and it reminded me of some old castle with its
turreted roof and winding galleries. I wonder how it looks now." I was
falling into one of my old-fashioned dreams, when a moan from Peggy
wakened me, and I sprang to her bedside with renewed alarm.

CHAPTER VIII.

Yes, Peggy was very sick; but she would not acknowledge it. It was
nothing but a violent headache,--a sudden cold; she would be up and
doing in the morning. The doctor! No, indeed, she would have nothing to
do with doctors. She had never taken a dose of medicine in her life, and
never would, of her own freewill. Sage tea was worth all the pills and
nostrums in the world. On the faith of her repeated assertions, that she
felt a great deal better and would be quite well in the morning, we
slept, my mother and myself, leaving the lamp dimly burning by the
solemn hour-glass.

About midnight we were awakened by the wild ravings of delirious
agony,--those sounds so fearful in themselves, so awful in the silence
and darkness of night, so indescribably awful in the solitude of our
lonely dwelling.

Peggy had struggled with disease like "the strong man prepared to run a
race," but it had now seized her with giant grasp, and she lay helpless
and writhing, with the fiery fluid burning in her veins, sending dark,
red flashes to her cheeks and brow. Her eyes had a fierce, lurid glare,
and she tossed her head from side to side on the pillow with the wild
restlessness of an imprisoned animal.

"Good God!" cried my mother, looking as white as the sheets, and
trembling all over as in an ague-fit. "What shall we do? She will die
unless a doctor can see her. Oh, my child, what can we do? It is
dreadful to be alone in the woods, when sickness and death are in the
house."

"_I_ will go for the doctor, mother, if you are not afraid to stay alone
with Peggy," cried I, in hurried accents, wrapping a shawl round me as I
spoke.

My mother wrung her hands.

"Oh! this is terrible," she exclaimed. "How dim and dark it looks
abroad. I cannot let you go alone, at midnight. It cannot be less than a
mile to Dr. Harlowe's. No, no; I cannot let you go."

"And Peggy must die, then. _She_ must die who has served us so
faithfully, and lived alone for us! Oh, mother, let me go I will fly on
the wings of the wind. You will hardly miss me before I