Week after week, and month after month, passed quickly away, and Mary was rapidly acquiring a skill in the art she was learning, rarely obtained by any.  After the end of four months, she could turn off a dress equal to any one in the work-room.  But this constant application was making sad inroads upon her health.  For two years she had been engaged in active and laborious duties, even beyond her strength.  The change from this condition to the perfectly sedentary, was more than her constitution could bear up under, especially as she was compelled to bend over her needle regularly, from ten to twelve hours each day.  As the time for the expiration of her term of service approached, she felt her strength to be fast failing her.  Her cheek had become paler and thinner, her step more languid, and her appetite was almost entirely gone.

These indications of failing health were not unobserved by Mr. Martin.  But, not having made up his mind, definitely, that she was precisely the woman he wanted for a wife, he could not interfere to prevent her continuance at the business which was too evidently destroying her health.  But every time he saw her his interest in her became tenderer.  “If no one steps forward and saves her,” he would sometimes say to himself, as he gazed with saddened feelings upon her colorless cheek, “she will fall a victim in the very bloom of womanhood.”

And Mary herself saw the sad prospect before her.  She told no one of the pain in her side, nor of the sickening sensation of weakness and weariness that daily oppressed her.  But she toiled on and on, hoping to feel better soon.  At last her probation ended.  But the determined and ambitious spirit that had kept her up, now gave way.

Martin knew the day when her apprenticeship expired, and without asking why, followed the impulse that prompted him, and called upon her in the evening.

“Is any thing the matter, Mrs. Turner?” he asked, with a feeling of alarm, on entering the house and catching a glance at the expression of that lady’s countenance.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Martin, Mary is extremely ill,” she replied, in evident painful anxiety.

“What ails her?” he asked, showing equal concern.

“I do not know, Mr. Martin.  She came home this evening, and as soon as she reached her chamber fainted away.  I sent for the doctor immediately, and he says that she must be kept very quiet, and that he will be here very early in the morning again.  I am afraid she has overworked herself.  Indeed, I am sure she has.  For many weeks back, I have noticed her altered appearance and loss of appetite.  It was in vain that I urged her to spare herself for a few weeks and make up the time afterwards.  She steadily urged the necessity of getting into business as soon as possible, and would not give up.  She has sacrificed herself, Mr. Martin, I very much fear, to her devotion to the family.”  And Mrs. Turner burst into tears.