me
foolish persons do, at the sight of blood. This side, if you please, my
dear."

Ashamed to forfeit the confidence he had in my bravery, or rather moral
courage, I grasped the basin with both hands, and held it firm, though
my lips quivered and my cheek blanched.

Peggy, awakened by the pressure of the bandage, began to rave and
struggle, and I feared it would be impossible to subdue her into
sufficient quietness; but delirious as she was, there was something in
the calm, authoritative tones of Dr. Harlowe's voice, that seemed
irresistible. She became still, and lay with her half-closed eyes fixed
magnetically on his face. As the dark-red blood spouted into the basin,
I started, and would have recoiled had not a strong controlling
influence been exerted over me. The gates of life were opened. How easy
for life itself to pass away in that deep crimson tide!

"This is the poetry of our profession," said the doctor, binding up the
wound with all a woman's gentleness.

Poor Peggy, who could ever associate the idea of poetry with her! I
could not help smiling as I looked at her sturdy arm, through whose
opaque surface the blue wandering of the veins was vainly sought.

"And now," said he, after giving her a comforting draught, "she will
sleep, and _you_ must sleep, madam," turning respectfully to my mother;
"you have not strength enough to resist fatigue,--your daughter will
have two to nurse instead of one, if you do not follow my advice."

"I cannot sleep," replied my mother.

"But you can rest, madam; it is your duty. What did I come here for, but
to relieve your cares? Go with your mother, my dear, and after a while
you may come back and help me."

"You are very kind, sir," she answered. With a graceful bend of the head
she passed from the room, while his eyes followed her with an expression
of intense interest.

It is no wonder. Even I, accustomed as I was to watch her every motion,
was struck by the exceeding grace of her manner. She did not ask the
doctor what he thought of Peggy, though I saw the words trembling on her
lips. She dared not do it.

From that night the seclusion of our cottage home was broken up. Disease
had entered and swept down the barriers of circumstance curiosity had so
long respected. We felt the drawings of that golden chain of sympathy
which binds together the great family of mankind.

Peggy's disease was a fever, of a peculiar and malignant character. It
was the first case whic