e nearest physician. Dr. Gordon readily saw that Fanny's disease was in
her mind, and in reply to Mrs. Middleton's inquiries, he frankly told his
opinion, and said that unless the cause of her melancholy could be
removed, the consequence might be fatal.

"Don't tell my husband," said Mrs. Middleton, "his life is bound up in
Fanny, and the day that sees her dead will, I fear, also make me a widow."
Accordingly, Mr. Middleton was deceived into a belief that Fanny's illness
was the result of over-exertion, and that she would soon recover.

In a day or two she seemed better, but was not able to come downstairs.
Instead, she had no desire or intention of doing so until after the
wedding, for she felt she could not, would not, see Dr. Lacey for the
world. Since the receipt of her sister's letter she had been given a
holier love, a firmer faith, than aught on earth can bestow, and she was
now under the influence of religion; of lasting, true religion. This then
was the reason why she welcomed her sister so affectionately, and felt no
emotion either of resentment or anger toward those who were thus trampling
on the bleeding fibers of her heart.

As Julia kissed the almost transparent brow of her sister, and clasped her
thin, white fingers, tears gathered in her eyes and she thought, "This
ruin have I wrought, and for it I must answer"; but not long did she ever
suffer her conscience to trouble her, and the next hour she was chatting
away to Fanny about the preparations for her wedding, which was to take
place one week from that day. Fanny listened as one who heard not. She was
praying for more grace, more strength to endure yet a little longer.

Slowly to Julia dragged the days of that week, while to Fanny they sped on
rapid wing. And now everything within and without the house betokened the
coming event. Servants scampered hither and thither, thinking they were
doing it all, while in reality they were doing nothing. Mrs. Middleton
scolded the blacks, and Uncle Joshua scolded Mrs. Middleton, at the same
time walking mechanically from the kitchen to the parlor, from the parlor
to Fanny's sick room and from Fanny's sick room back to the kitchen,
occasionally kicking from his path some luckless kitten, dog or black
baby, which latter set up most lusty yells, just to vary the scene.

In the midst of all this Fanny lay calmly and quietly on her low bed,
counting each succeeding sun as it rose and set, bringing nearer and
nearer a