“What ails him?” I enquired.

“I did not clearly understand.  But he has a fever of some kind.  You remember his mother very well?”

“Oh, yes.  You know she worked for me.  Edward is her only child, I believe.”

“Yes; and his loss to her will be almost everything.”

“Is he dangerous?” I enquired, a feeling of interest beginning to stir in my heart.

“He is not expected to live.”

“Poor woman!  How distressed she must be!  I wonder what her circumstances are just at this time.  She seemed very poor when she worked for me.”

“And she is very poor still, I doubt not.  She has herself been sick, and during the time it is more than probable that Edward’s wages were all her income.  I am afraid she has not now the means of procuring for her sick boy things necessary for his comfort.  Could you not go around there this afternoon, and see how they are?”

I shook my head instantly at this proposition, for sympathy for others was not strong enough to expel my selfish despondency of mind.

“Then I must step around,” replied my husband, “before I go back to business, although I have a great deal to do to-day.  It would not be right to neglect this lad and his mother under present circumstances.”

I felt rebuked at these words, and, with an effort, said: 

“I will go.”

“It will be much better for you to see them than for me,” returned my husband, “for you can understand their wants better, and minister to them more effectually.  If they need any comforts, I would like to have you see them supplied.”

It still cost me an effort to get ready, but as I had promised to do as my husband wished, the effort had to be made.  By the time I was prepared to go out, I felt something better.  The exertion I was required to make, tended to disperse, slightly, the clouds that hung over me, and as they began gradually to remove, my thoughts turned, with an awakened interest, towards the object of my husband’s solicitude.

All was silent within the humble abode to which my errand led me.  I knocked lightly, and in a few moments the mother of Edward opened the door.  She looked pale and anxious.

“How is your son, Mrs. Ellis?” I enquired, as I stepped in.

“He is very low, ma’am,” she replied.

“Not dangerous, I hope?”

“The fever has left him, but he is as weak as an infant.  All his strength is gone.”

“But proper nourishment will restore him, now that the disease is broken.”

“So the doctor says.  But I’m afraid it’s too late.  He seems to be sinking every hour.  Will you walk up and see him?”

I followed Mrs. Ellis up stairs, and into a chamber, where the sick boy lay.  I was not surprised at the fear she expressed, when I saw Edward’s pale, sunken face, and hollow, almost expressionless eyes.  He scarcely noticed my entrance.

“Poor boy!” sighed his mother.  “He has had a very sick spell.”