g that every hour
would be his last. While his delirium was at its height, Hester was taken
violently, and on the morning when Irene felt that her labour was not in
vain, and that the boy would get well, his little sister, whom she had
nursed quite as assiduously, grew rapidly worse, and died at noon. As is
frequently observed in such diseases, this increased in virulence with
every new case. It spread with astonishing celerity through the Row,
baffling the efforts of the best physicians in W----; and finally, the day
after Hester's death, as Irene sat trying to comfort the poor mother, a
neighbour came in exclaiming--

"Oh, Miss Irene! Philip Martin is down too. He caught the fever from his
mother, and his father says won't you please come over?"

She went promptly, though so wearied she could scarcely stand, and took a
seat by the bed where tossed the poor boy in whom she had taken such an
interest.

"You must go home, Miss Huntingdon; you are worn out. His father can watch
him till his mother gets stronger," said Dr. Brandon, who was fully
acquainted with the unremitting attendance at the next house.

"No, I must stay with Philip; perhaps he will know me when he wakes."

A hope doomed to disappointment, for he raved for four days and nights,
calling frantically for the serene, sad woman who sat at his pillow,
bending over him and laying her cold hand on his scorched brow. On the
fifth day, being free from fever and utterly prostrated, he seemed sinking
rapidly; but she kept her fingers on his pulse, and, without waiting for
the doctor's advice, administered powerful stimulants. So passed two hours
of painful anxiety; then Philip opened his eyes languidly, and looked at
her.

"Philip, do you know me?"

"Yes--Miss Irene."

She sank back as if some strong supporting hand had suddenly been withdrawn
from her; and observing that she looked ghastly, Mr. Martin hastily brought
her a glass of water. Just then Dr. Brandon entered, and examined his
patient with evident surprise.

"What have you done to him, Miss Huntingdon?"

"Since daylight I have been giving him ammonia and brandy; his pulse was so
feeble and thready, I thought he needed it, and was afraid to wait for
you."

"Right! and you saved his life by it. I could not get here any earlier, and
if you had delayed it until I came, it would probably have been too late.
You may call him your patient after this."

She waited no longer, but staggered to the do