less thee! I lie at thy
footstool. I am willing to die; I long to die. Let the waves of eternity
roll over my soul."

Husband and brother! they lived, and yet neither came to me on my couch
of sickness. But Richard! had not I seen him bleeding, insensible, the
image of death? he lived, yet he might be on the borders of the grave.
But she had commanded me to be silent, submissive, and grateful; and I
tried to obey her. My physical weakness was such, it subdued the
paroxysms of mental agony, and the composing draught which she gave me
was a blessed Nepenthe, producing oblivion and repose.

The next day I recognized Dr. Harlowe, the excellent and beloved
physician. When I called him by name, as he stood by the bed, counting
my languid pulse, the good man turned aside his head to hide the
womanish tears that moistened his cheeks. Then looking down on me with a
benignant smile, he said, smoothing my hair on my forehead, as if I were
a little child--

"Be a good girl; keep quiet; be patient as a lamb, and you will soon be
well."

"How long have I been ill, Doctor?" I asked. "I am very foolish, I know;
but it seems as if even you look older than you did."

"Never mind, my dear, how long you have been sick. I mean to have you
well in a short time. Perhaps I do look a little older, for I have
forgotten to shave this morning."

While he was speaking, I caught a glimpse of the lawn through a slight
opening in the window curtain, and I uttered an exclamation of amazement
and alarm. The trees which I had last beheld clothed in a foliage of
living green, were covered with the golden tints of autumn; and here and
there a naked bough, with prophetic desolation, waved its arm across the
sky.

Where had my spirit been while the waning year had rolled on? Where was
Ernest? Where was Richard? Why was I forsaken and alone?

These questions quivered on my tongue, and would have utterance.

"Tell me, Doctor,--I cannot live in this dreadful suspense."

He sat down by me, still holding my hand in his, and promised to tell
me, if I would be calm and passive. He told me that for two months I had
been in a state of alternate insensibility and delirium, that they had
despaired of my life, and that they welcomed me as one risen from the
grave. He told me that Ernest had left home, in consequence of the
prayers of his mother, till Richard should recover from the effects of
his wound, which they at first feared would prove fatal; that Rich