times, and this
at one time may serve to divert the sufferer from his own sad thoughts;
at another, it will only plunge him into deeper melancholy than before;
and then Hattersley is confounded, and knows not what to say, unless it
be a timid suggestion that the clergyman might be sent for. But Arthur
will never consent to that: he knows he has rejected the clergyman's
well-meant admonitions with scoffing levity at other times, and cannot
dream of turning to him for consolation now.

Mr. Hattersley sometimes offers his services instead of mine, but Arthur
will not let me go: that strange whim still increases, as his strength
declines--the fancy to have me always by his side. I hardly ever leave
him, except to go into the next room, where I sometimes snatch an hour or
so of sleep when he is quiet; but even then the door is left ajar, that
he may know me to be within call. I am with him now, while I write, and
I fear my occupation annoys him; though I frequently break off to attend
to him, and though Mr. Hattersley is also by his side. That gentleman
came, as he said, to beg a holiday for me, that I might have a run in the
park, this fine frosty morning, with Milicent and Esther and little
Arthur, whom he had driven over to see me. Our poor invalid evidently
felt it a heartless proposition, and would have felt it still more
heartless in me to accede to it. I therefore said I would only go and
speak to them a minute, and then come back. I did but exchange a few
words with them, just outside the portico, inhaling the fresh, bracing
air as I stood, and then, resisting the earnest and eloquent entreaties
of all three to stay a little longer, and join them in a walk round the
garden, I tore myself away and returned to my patient. I had not been
absent five minutes, but he reproached me bitterly for my levity and
neglect. His friend espoused my cause.

'Nay, nay, Huntingdon,' said he, 'you're too hard upon her; she must have
food and sleep, and a mouthful of fresh air now and then, or she can't
stand it, I tell you. Look at her, man! she's worn to a shadow already.'

'What are her sufferings to mine?' said the poor invalid. 'You don't
grudge me these attentions, do you, Helen?'

'No, Arthur, if I could really serve you by them. I would give my life
to save you, if I might.'

'Would you, indeed? No!'

'Most willingly I would.'

'Ah! that's because you think yourself more fit to die!'

There was a painful p