There were no uttered prayers to this effect, that I remember, but an unceasing cry for strength, for light, went up from my heart, as continuously as the waters of a fountain, to the ear of my Creator.  I have thought sometimes that, in this persistent wrestle of mind with matter, enduring so many weeks and months, so many weary, woful days and sleepless nights, the physical demon was exorcised at last, that had ruled my life so long, or was reduced to feeble efforts thereafter.

Once when Dr. Pemberton’s attendance had been necessary to me, during a severe spell of pleurisy, he said when I was recovering:  “There is some favorable change at work in your constitution, Miriam, it seems to me.  We hear no more of the ‘obliteration spells,’” for thus he called my seizures.

“Your drops have banished them, dear doctor, I suppose,” I rejoined, with a faint smile.

“They may have aided to do so,” he said, gravely, “but I think I have observed, Miriam, that you were doing good work lately for yourself.  You have been struggling manfully, my little girl.  Now, I am going for recreation to Magara, and the Northern cities, for a few weeks, next month, and I want you to go with me, in aid of this effort of yours.  Quite alone, with Charity as sole attendant.  My niece will be with me—­a good, quiet girl, you know, some years older than yourself, and also in feeble health; and I will see that you are both well taken care of, medically at least, while you are absent.  How would you like this, Miriam,” patting my shoulder, “just for a change?”

“Oh, very much!” I said, eagerly.  “Yes, I will go gladly, in this quiet way, for I do not wish to visit gay places, or to make strange acquaintance, under the circumstances.  My deep mourning must be respected, you know, and—­” I hesitated; looked in his kind, sympathizing face; then hid mine on his shoulder—­weeping.  The first tears of relief I had shed for months.

He did not check me, for he knew full well the value of this outlet of feeling, to one situated as I was, physically as well as mentally.

“I would offer to take Mabel,” he added, after a time, “were I not solemnly convinced that it would be better for you both that she should stay here.  Mrs. Austin seems necessary to her very existence; and that old woman is your vampire, I verily believe.”

“No, no, she is very good, indeed.  You are mistaken.”

“No, I am not mistaken.  There are persons who do sack away, unconsciously, the very life of others, from some peculiarity of organization in both.  I have strong faith in this theory.  I have been obliged sometimes to decree the separation of wife and husband for a time, to save the life of one or the other; of mother and child even.  Every time you fall ill, I believe Mrs. Austin gains strength and energy at your expense.  She absorbs your nervous fluid.  It was from this conviction that I requested you two years ago to change your room, which, until then, she had shared on the pretence of your necessities, and to substitute a younger and less sponge-like attendant.  You remember the stress I laid on this?”