eatened momentary
death, had been at length checked; the eyes were closed that had roamed
in helpless affright and agony from Violet to the doctors; and the
sufferer was lying, in what his wife would fain have deemed a slumber,
but the gasping respiration and looks of distress made it but too
evident that it was the stillness of exhaustion, enhanced by dread of
renewing the bleeding by word or motion.

There could be no concealment of the exceeding danger. His lungs had
never been strong; and the slight cough, which, contrary to his usual
habits, he had neglected all the summer, had been the token of mischief,
which his recent expedition had aggravated to a fearful extent. Even
the violent bleeding had not relieved the inflammation on the chest, and
Violet had collected from the physician's looks and words that it could
be hardly expected that he should survive the day.

Yet, through that dreadful morning, she had not failed in resolution or
composure: never once had her husband seen in her look, or heard in
her tone, aught but what might cheer and sustain him--never had
her fortitude or steadiness given way. She had not time to think of
consolation and support; but her habit of prayer and trust came to
her aid, and brought strength and support around her "in these great
waterfloods" of trouble. She was not forsaken in her hour of need.
Hitherto there had been no space for reflection; now his quiescent
state, though for the present so great a relief, brought the opportunity
of realizing his situation; but therewith arose thankfulness for the
space thus granted, and the power of praying that it might be blessed to
him whether for life or death.

In watchfulness and supplication, she sat beside him, with her babe,
much afraid that it should disturb him, and be unwelcome. However, when
some little sound made him aware of its presence, he opened his eyes,
moved his hand, as if to put back the covering that hid its face from
him, and presently signed to have it placed on the bed by his side. It
was a fine large dark boy, already so like him as to make the contrast
the more striking and painful, between the unconscious serenity of the
babe and the restless misery of the face of the father, laid low in the
strength of manhood, and with a look of wretched uneasiness, as if the
load on the mind was a worse torment than the weight on the labouring
breath. He, who usually hardly deigned a glance at his infants, now lay
gazing w