Choking with grateful emotion, as soon as I could command control I said:  “Doctor, I could not expect you to give me such kind attention without remuneration, but since you have so willed it, I can only say I thank you for having saved my life.”  Whereupon there came the same luminous look, and the gentle voice said:  “Mary, it was not I that saved thy life; it was thy Heavenly Father.”

As soon as I was well enough to ride he made arrangements for me to visit his house.  I took the street car, but by pre-arranged plan, he met me at his door, lifted me from the car, and carried me in his arms into a luxurious bed-chamber, where I was met by the sweet-voiced Rachel, who gave me a reviving draught of rare old wine, and in every way studied my wants during the day’s visit, after which the Doctor drove me home in his carriage.

How do our hearts go out in gratitude to such true and loving natures, and how fondly do we recall in after years the sweet sounds of sympathy, whose melody pervades life’s measured music.

Once again I found myself in Baltimore, where I received a letter from my brother William, urging me to spend the winter at his home in Pecatonica, Ill.  This, together with a meeting with my cousin Sammy Heald, determined me to go West.  My cousin was about to visit Iowa City, Iowa, where dwelt his betrothed, and he offered to pay all my traveling expenses if I would accompany him.  The temptation of seeing one from whom there had been an eight years separation made my cousin’s entreaties irresistible, and I yielded, receiving from him all the devoted attendance his kind nature could dictate.  So, after the lapse of so many eventful years, I turned my face westward.  I spent the winter at the home of my brother, and shall never forget his kindness and that of his family, as well as other residents of Pecatonica, who did so much to lighten the leaden-winged hours, which, in a little hamlet, drag so slowly in comparison with the din and bustle of city life, and the excitement of business and travel.

CHAPTER VIII.

    “So where’er I turn my eyes,
    Back upon the days gone by,
    Saddening thoughts of friends come o’er me;
    Friends who closed their course before me,
    Yet what links us friend to friend,
    But that soul with soul can blend. 
    Love-like were those hours of yore,
    Let us walk in soul once more.”

The dreary winter had passed away, one in sad contrast with the mild southern season, and known only to those who have realized its storms and wind and snow.