“I was very ill indeed, I cannot imagine how one could be worse and live,” I said, gravely.

“But I shall not be so strong as you for some weeks.  It has left me with a troublesome cough, I shall be well when that leaves me.”

I felt constrained; uncertain what to say.  Since her recovery was doubtful I shrank from encouraging her in a false hope, and I could not tell her that we all thought she must soon die.  She soon noticed my constraint, and began to rally me.

“Is it on account of Mr. Winthrop’s absence you are looking so sorrowful?” she asked.

“I was not thinking of him, but of you alone.”

“That is kind, but I am not flattered.  I did not think I was such a gloomy object for reflection.”

“I was only sorry to see you looking so frail, and wishing I could help you,” I said, gently.

“If you only could, I would very soon discharge those useless doctors; they are all alike, I believe; for I have tried each one of them in turn, and they none of them have done much for me.”

“I do not think there is so much difference in doctors as people imagine, if they but learn the nature of the disease, they all know the proper remedies to use.”

“That is poor consolation for me, I know if I had a good physician I would be well in a few days; but the trouble with those who have attended me is, they do not understand my case and do not administer the proper remedies.”

“Nature is an excellent healer herself.  If wisely assisted, she soon works the miracle of healing, unless,—­” I hesitated.

“Unless what?” she asked sharply.

“God has willed otherwise.”

“I cannot listen to such words, I am not going to die until I am old.  Oh, why must we grow old and die at last? it was a cruel way to create us.”

“The other world seemed so beautiful to me when I was so sick, I scarcely wanted to come back to this.”

“Well, it seems just the reverse to me, I lie awake at night and shudder when I think of death and the grave.  It makes me shudder now in the sunshine, and with you smiling down so kindly at me.  Please to never mention such things to me again.”

I felt grieved; for then my task in coming here would be a vain one.  Day by day as I came to see her, the hectic flush in her cheek kept deepening, and the eyes grew brighter and more sorrowful, while she grew gradually weaker.

Very soon the pretty parlor was vacated, while her bed was the only comfortable resting-place.  She was anxious to have me come, and the nurse said she counted the hours between my departure and return.  Her eagerness to have me read to her puzzled me at first, especially since she was indifferent as to what I read, but after a while I found that she prized my reading merely because it acted as a sedative.  During the night sleep usually forsook her; but when I left she was generally sleeping peacefully.  She permitted me to read the Bible as much as I chose.  One day she explained the reason for her indifference in the matter:—­