It was a good while before Mrs. Tompkins could hold up her head in society, where she had, for some time, held it remarkably high.  She never carried it as stately as before.  As for Wolford, he but seldom passed the store of the merchant:  when he did so, it was not without a pang—­he had lost a good customer by grinding him too hard, and could not forgive himself for the error.

THE TWO INVALIDS.

The chamber in which the sick woman lay was furnished with every thing that taste could desire or comfort demand.  Yet, from none of these elegant surroundings came there an opiate for the weary spirit, or a balm to soothe the pain from which she suffered.  With heavy eyes, contracted brow, and face almost as white as the lace-fringed pillow it pressed, canopied with rich curtains, she reclined, sighing away the weary hours, or giving, voice to her discontent in fruitless complainings.

She was alone.  A little while before, her attendant had left the room, taking with her a child, whose glad spirits—­glad because admitted to his mother’s presence—­had disturbed her.

“Take him out,” she had said, fretfully.

“You must go back to the nursery, dear.”  The attendant spoke kindly, as she stooped to lift the child in her arms.

“No—­no—­no.  I want to stay here.  Do let me stay here, won’t you?”

“Mamma is sick, and you disturb her,” was answered.

“Oh no.  I won’t disturb her.  I’ll be so good.”

“Why don’t you take him out at once?” exclaimed the mother, in a harsh, excited voice.  “It’s too much that I can’t have a little quiet!  He’s made my head ache already.  What does nurse mean by letting him come over here?”

As the screaming child was borne from the room, the sick woman clasped her hand to her temples, murmuring—­

“My poor head!  It was almost quiet; but now it throbs as if every vein were ready to burst!  Why don’t they soothe that child?”

But the child screamed on, and his voice came ringing upon her ears.  Nurse was cross, and took no pains to hush his cries; so the mother’s special attendant remained, for some time, away from the sick-chamber.  By slow degrees she succeeded in diverting the child’s mind from his disappointment; but it was many minutes after his crying ceased before he would consent to her leaving him.

In the mean time the sun’s bright rays had found a small opening in one of the curtains that draped the windows, and commenced pouring in a few pencils of light, which fell, in a bright spot, on a picture that hung against the wall; resting, in fact upon the fair forehead of a beautiful maiden, and giving a hue of life to the features.  It was like a bit of fairy-work—­a touch almost of enchantment.  The eyes of the invalid were resting on this picture as the magic change began to take place.

How the lovely vision, if it might so be called, won her from thoughts of pain!  Ah, if we could say so?  Raising herself, she grasped the pendent tassel of the bell-rope, and rang with a violent hand; then sank down with a groan, exhausted by the effort, shut her eyes, and buried her face in the pillow.  Leaving the only half-comforted child, her attendant hastily obeyed the summons.