“Do, Tom, and pray let me hear no more of this nonsense, for, ridiculous as it may appear, it is to me very painful.  Leave now—­I am nervous and low-spirited.  Good-by.  Come this evening with your sister, I shall be better then.”

Mrs. St. Felix went into the back parlor, and I left the shop.  I had turned the wrong way, almost forgetting to give Tom his answer, when I recollected myself, and returned to the doctor’s house.

“Well?” said Tom, eagerly.

“Why,” replied I, hardly having made my mind up what to say, yet not wishing to hurt his feelings, “the fact is, Tom, that the widow has a very good opinion of you.”

“I knew that,” interrupted Tom.

“And if she were ever to marry again—­why, you would have quite as good a chance as the doctor.”

“I was sure of that,” said he.

“But at present, the widow—­for reasons which she cannot explain to anybody—­cannot think of entering into any new engagement.”

“I see—­no regular engagement.”

“Exactly so; but as soon as she feels herself at liberty—­”

“Yes,” said Tom, breathless.

“Why, then she’ll send, I presume, and let you know.”

“I see, then, I may hope.”

“Why, not exactly—­but there will be no occasion to take laudanum.”

“Not a drop, my dear fellow, depend upon it.”

“There is no saying what may come to pass, you see, Tom:  two, or three, or four years may—­”

“Four years—­that’s a very long time.”

“Nothing to a man sincerely in love.”

“No, nothing—­that’s very true.”

“So all you have to do is to follow up your profession quietly and steadily, and wait and see what time may bring forth.”

“So I will—­I’ll wait twenty years, if that’s all.”

I wished Tom good-by, thinking that it was probable that he would wait a great deal longer; but at all events, he was pacified and contented for the time, and there would be no great harm done, even if he did continue to make the widow the object of his passion for a year or two longer.  It would keep him out of mischief, and away from Anny Whistle.

On my return home I met with a severe shock, in consequence of information which my mother did not scruple to communicate to me.  Perhaps it was all for the best, as it broke the last link of an unhappy attachment.  She informed me very abruptly that the shutters of Mr. Wilson’s house were closed in consequence of his having received intelligence of the death of Lady ——.  Poor Janet had expired in her first confinement, and the mother and child were to be consigned to the same tomb.  This intelligence drove me to my chamber, and I may be considered weak, but I shed many tears for her untimely end.  I did not go with my sister to Mrs. St. Felix, but remained alone till the next day, when Virginia came, and persuaded me to walk with her to the hospital, as she had a message for my father.