spoken with Dr. Harlowe, I felt
as much confidence in his kindness and benevolence as if I had known him
for years. There was something so frank and genial about him, he seemed,
like the wine I had been quaffing, warming to the heart. There was
barely room for me, slender as I was, for the carriage was constructed
for the accommodation of the doctor alone; but I did not feel
embarrassed, or as if I were intruding. He drove very rapidly,
conversing the whole time in a pleasant, cheering voice.

"Peggy must be a very valuable person," he said, "for you to venture out
so bravely in her cause. We must cure her, by all means."

I expatiated on her virtues with all the eloquence of gratitude.
Something must have emboldened my shy tongue,--something more than the
hope, born of the doctor's heart-reviving words.

"He is come--he is come," I exclaimed, springing from the buggy to the
threshold, with the quickness of lightning.

Oh! how dim and sickly and sad every thing appeared in that little
chamber! I turned and looked at the doctor, wondering if he had ever
entered one so sad before. Peggy lay in an uneasy slumber, her arms
thrown above her head, in a wild, uncomfortable attitude. My mother sat
leaning against the head of the bed, pale and statue-like, with her
hand, white as marble, partly hidden in her dark and loosely braided
hair. The doctor glanced at the bed, then at my mother, and his glance
riveted on her. Surprise warmed into admiration,--admiration stood
checked by reverence. He advanced a few steps into the room, and made
her as lowly a bow as if she were an empress. She rose without speaking
and motioned me to hand him a chair; but waiving the offered civility,
he went up to the side of the bed and laid his fingers quietly on the
pulse of his patient. He stood gravely counting the ticking of life's
great chronometer, while my mother leaned forward with pale, parted
lips, and I gazed upon him as if the issues of life and death were in
his hands.

"I wish I had been called sooner," said he, with a slight contraction of
the brows, "but we will do all we can to relieve her."

He called for a basin and linen bandage, and taking a lancet from his
pocket, held up the sharp, gleaming point to the light. I shuddered, I
had never seen any one bled, and it seemed to me an awful operation.

"You will hold the basin," said he, directing me with his calm,
benignant eye. "You are a brave girl,--you will not shrink, as so