As the doctor directed, she at once took to her bed.  For an hour or two her prostration was extreme, and she nearly fainted.  Her head shook and her condition verged on a collapse.  I rubbed her hands vigorously, gave her a restorative, and gradually her strength returned.  In speaking of the attack she said the sense of weakness was so terrible that she would gladly have died on the spot.  In the course of the afternoon, however, she was so much easier that the girls read to her again out of Boswell’s Johnson and she seemed to listen with all the old interest.  It pleased her greatly to have them read to her; and she loved to talk with them about the books read and especially to discuss the characters depicted in any of them.

Toward evening George brought in some trout, which he had caught for her out of our brook.  Her appetite was exceedingly poor, but she was very fond of trout and G. often caught a little mess for her supper.  Our brook never seemed so dear to me, nor did its rippling music ever sound so sweet, as when I did the same thing, before he came home from Princeton and took the privilege out of my hands.  When he brought in the trout, Ellen went to his mother’s chamber and asked if they should not be kept for breakfast?  “No, they are very nice and you had better have them for supper.”  “Shan’t I save some for your breakfast?” asked Ellen, knowing how fond she was of them.  “No,” said she, “the doctor says I must take nothing but beef-tea.”  “And d’ye feel better, Mis’ Prentiss?” continued Ellen.  “Oh I feel better, Ellen, but I’m very weak—­I shall be all right in a few days.”

After tea she insisted on sending for Mrs. Sarah C. Mitchell, of Philadelphia, whom she had been unable to see on the previous Monday.  Mrs. M. was the last person out of the family, with whom she conversed, excepting the doctors and nurse. [9]

Sunday, Aug. 11th.—­She slept better than I feared, but awoke very feeble, taking no nourishment except a little beef-tea.  She lay quiet a part of the time; but the quiet intervals grew shorter and were followed by most distressing attacks.  M. and I sat by her bed, but could do nothing to relieve her.  My fears had now become thoroughly aroused and I awaited the arrival of the doctor with the most intense anxiety.  Hour after hour of the morning, however, passed slowly away and he did not come.  At length a messenger brought word from the “West road,” where he had been called at midnight, that an urgent telegram had summoned him to Arlington and that he should not be able to reach Dorset before one or two o’clock P.M.  The anguish of the suspense during the next three or four hours was something dreadful.  When the bell rang for church she desired that M. should go, as Dr. Vincent was to preach, and it would give a little relief from the strain that was upon her.