The moment Mrs. Wilkinson emerged, with her husband, from the bar-room of Parker’s tavern, she fled along the street like a swift gliding spirit, far outstripping in speed her thoroughly sobered and alarmed husband, who hurried after her with rapid steps.  The door of the house had been left open when she came forth in the anguish of her wild alarm to summon her husband, and she re-entered and flew up-stairs without the pause of an instant.  Wilkinson was but a moment or two later in reaching the house, and in gaining their chamber.  The sight that met his eyes sent the blood coldly to his heart.  The mother had already snatched the child from the crib in which she had left her, and was standing with her close to the lamp, the light from which fell strongly upon her infantile face, that was fearfully distorted.  The eyes were open and rolled up, until the entire pupil was hidden.  The lips were white with their firm compression; and yet they had a quick nervous motion.

“Oh, John!  John! what is the matter?” cried Mrs. Wilkinson, as she looked first upon the face of her child, and then into that of her husband, with a most anxious and imploring glance.  “Is she dying?”

“No, dear, I think not,” returned Wilkinson, with a composure of voice that belied the agitation of his feelings.

“Oh! what is the matter?  Yes!  Yes!  I’m sure she’s dying.  Oh! run quick! quick! for the doctor.”

“First,” said Wilkinson, who was becoming, every moment, more self-possessed, and who now saw that the child, who was teething, had been thrown into spasms, “let us do what we can for her.  She is in convulsions, and we must get her into a bath of hot water as quickly as possible.  I will call up Anna.  Don’t be alarmed,” he added, in a soothing voice:  “there is no immediate danger.”

“Are you sure, John?  Are you sure?  Oh!  I’m afraid she is dying!  My precious, precious babe!” And the mother clasped her child passionately to her bosom.

In the course of ten or fifteen minutes, a vessel of hot water was ready, and into this the still writhing form of the convulsed child was placed.  Then Wilkinson hurried off for their physician.  Half an hour afterwards he returned with him.  The good effects of the hot-bath were already perceptible.  The face of the child had resumed its placid sweetness of expression, and there was but slight convulsive twitching in the limbs.  The doctor remained with them, applying, from time to time, appropriate remedies, until all the painful signs which occasioned so much alarm had vanished, and then left, promising to call early on the next morning.

It was past one o’clock.  The physician had left, and the domestics retired to their own apartment.  Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson were alone with their still unconscious child, that lay in a deep, unnatural slumber.  They were standing, side by side, and bending over the bed on which little Ella lay.  Wilkinson had drawn his arm around his wife, and she had laid her head upon his shoulder.  Each heard the beating of the other’s heart, as thus they stood, silent, yet with troubled thoughts and oppressed feelings.