his way to the forester's; but there at the
cross-road stood mother Sale; he turned to run, and ran for miles, with
the old woman close behind him; he heard her nearer and nearer, he felt
her hot breath on his shoulder; she seized him at last, and with all her
weight crushed in his chest. Jack awoke with a start; he recognized
the large room, the beds in a line, and heard the sighs and coughs. He
dreamed no more, and yet he still felt the same weight across his body,
something so cold and heavy that he called aloud in terror. The nurses
ran, and lifted Something, placed it in the next bed, and drew the
curtains round it closely.

CHAPTER XXIV.~~DEATH IN THE HOSPITAL.

"Come, wake up! Visitors are here."

Jack opened his eyes, and the first thing that struck him was the
curtains of the next bed,--they hung in such straight and motionless
folds to the very ground.

"Well, my boy, you had a pretty bad time last night. The poor fellow in
the next bed had convulsions and fell over on you. I suppose you were
terribly frightened. Now raise yourself a little that we may see you.
But you are very weak."

The man who spoke was about forty years of age, wearing a velvet coat
and a white apron. His beard was fair and his eyes bright. He feels the
sick man's pulse and asks him some questions.

"What is your trade?"

"A machinist."

"Do you drink?"

"Not now; I did at one time."

Then a long silence.

"What sort of a life have you led, my poor boy?"

Jack saw in the physician's face the same sympathetic interest that he
had perceived the previous day. The students surrounded the bed, and the
doctor explained to them various symptoms that he observed. They were
at once interesting and alarming, he said; and Jack listened with some
curiosity to the words "inspiration," "expiration," "phthisis," &c., and
at last understood that his was looked upon as a most critical case,--so
critical that, after the physician had left the room, the good sister
approached, and with gentle discretion asked if his family were in
Paris, and if he could send to them.

His family! Who were they? A man and a woman who were already there at
the foot of the bed. They belonged to the lower classes; but he had no
other friends than these, no other relatives.

"And how are we to-day?" said Belisaire, cheerily, though he kept his
tears back with difficulty. Madame Belisaire lays on the table two fine
oranges she has brought, and then, after