“A fever and strong delirium seized me, and my life was despaired of.  At length, nature, overpowered with fatigue, gave way to the salutary power of rest, and a quiet slumber of some hours restored me to reason, though the extreme weakness of my frame prevented my feeling my distress so acutely as I otherways should.

“The first object that struck me on awaking, was Lucy sitting by my bedside; her pale countenance and sable dress prevented my enquiries for poor George:  for the letter I had received from him, was the first thing that occurred to my memory.  By degrees the rest returned:  I recollected being arrested, but could no ways account for being in this apartment, whither they had conveyed me during my illness.

“I was so weak as to be almost unable to speak.  I pressed Lucy’s hand, and looked earnestly round the apartment in search of another dear object.

“Where is your mother?” said I, faintly.

“The poor girl could not answer:  she shook her head in expressive silence; and throwing herself on the bed, folded her arms about me, and burst into tears.

“What! both gone?” said I.

“Both,” she replied, endeavouring to restrain her emotions:  “but they are happy, no doubt.”

Here Mr. Eldridge paused:  the recollection of the scene was too painful to permit him to proceed.

CHAPTER IV.

Change of fortune.

“It was some days,” continued Mr. Eldridge, recovering himself, “before I could venture to enquire the particulars of what had happened during my illness:  at length I assumed courage to ask my dear girl how long her mother and brother had been dead:  she told me, that the morning after my arrest, George came home early to enquire after his mother’s health, staid with them but a few minutes, seemed greatly agitated at parting, but gave them strict charge to keep up their spirits, and hope every thing would turn out for the best.  In about two hours after, as they were sitting at breakfast, and endeavouring to strike out some plan to attain my liberty, they heard a loud rap at the door, which Lucy running to open, she met the bleeding body of her brother, borne in by two men who had lifted him from a litter, on which they had brought him from the place where he fought.  Her poor mother, weakened by illness and the struggles of the preceding night, was not able to support this shock; gasping for breath, her looks wild and haggard, she reached the apartment where they had carried her dying son.  She knelt by the bed side; and taking his cold hand, ‘my poor boy,’ said she, ’I will not be parted from thee:  husband! son! both at once lost.  Father of mercies, spare me!’ She fell into a strong convulsion, and expired in about two hours.  In the mean time, a surgeon had dressed George’s wounds; but they were in such a situation as to bar the smallest hopes of recovery.  He never was sensible from the time he was brought home, and died that evening in the arms of his sister.