g to wait and watch for the approach of death; to
know that hope is gone, and recovery impossible; and to sit and count the
dreary hours through long, long nights--such nights as only watchers by
the bed of sickness know. It chills the blood to hear the dearest
secrets of the heart--the pent-up, hidden secrets of many years--poured
forth by the unconscious, helpless being before you; and to think how
little the reserve and cunning of a whole life will avail, when fever and
delirium tear off the mask at last. Strange tales have been told in the
wanderings of dying men; tales so full of guilt and crime, that those who
stood by the sick person's couch have fled in horror and affright, lest
they should be scared to madness by what they heard and saw; and many a
wretch has died alone, raving of deeds the very name of which has driven
the boldest man away.

But no such ravings were to be heard at the bed-side by which the
children knelt. Their half-stifled sobs and moaning alone broke the
silence of the lonely chamber. And when at last the mother's grasp
relaxed, and, turning one look from the children to the father, she
vainly strove to speak, and fell backward on the pillow, all was so calm
and tranquil that she seemed to sink to sleep. They leant over her; they
called upon her name, softly at first, and then in the loud and piercing
tones of desperation. But there was no reply. They listened for her
breath, but no sound came. They felt for the palpitation of the heart,
but no faint throb responded to the touch. That heart was broken, and
she was dead!

The husband sunk into a chair by the bed-side, and clasped his hands upon
his burning forehead. He gazed from child to child, but when a weeping
eye met his, he quailed beneath its look. No word of comfort was
whispered in his ear, no look of kindness lighted on his face. All
shrunk from and avoided him; and when at last he staggered from the room,
no one sought to follow or console the widower.

The time had been when many a friend would have crowded round him in his
affliction, and many a heartfelt condolence would have met him in his
grief. Where were they now? One by one, friends, relations, the
commonest acquaintance even, had fallen off from and deserted the
drunkard. His wife alone had clung to him in good and evil, in sickness
and poverty, and how had he rewarded her? He had reeled from the tavern
to her bed-side in time to see her die.

He rushed