rt; but I was thoroughly wet, and the cold rain pierced my
very marrow, for I was wearing summer clothing in the winter season--I
had no other. Cold and wet, exhausted and miserable, I once more lifted
the latch of my own cottage door. The candle was dimly burning. My fears
arose, and my heart sunk within me: "Is Mary worse?" said I. "She is no
better," said Mr. Wright, who was sitting over the dying embers--"no
better--heavy work, James."

I placed the medicine upon the table, and sat down, exhausted and
wretched. Whose situation so low, could he have known all, that would
not have pitied me? Wright rose, and carried the medicines up stairs;
and in another minute all was the stillness of death. I could have borne
any thing but this--at least I so felt--but under this oppressive
stillness, my feelings gave way in torrents of tears, and every moment
brought a fresh accusation against myself for my past doings; and again
I looked around me, as well as my tearful eyes and dimly-lighted room
would allow, and contrasted all with John Wright's. "So comfortable,"
said I, involuntarily. Indistinct sounds and cautious steppings were now
heard above; and while I was raising myself up to listen, in order to
catch, if possible, something that would acquaint me with the state of
my poor Mary, the bedroom door opened, and down came Wright and his
wife, the latter carefully lighting the doctor, Mrs. Mason being close
behind him. I tried to recover myself a little, and to assume something
like the appearance of courage; and in a half-choked, coughing voice,
said, "How is my poor wife, sir?" The doctor, with a severity of manner,
and imitating my manner of speaking, replied, "You should have coughed
sooner, James;" then turning to Mrs. Mason, said, "Remember, _quiet_ is
the best medicine _now_; indeed, it is food and medicine in her present
state; don't teaze her about any thing; at half past, mind--and again at
twelve, until the pain subsides, when sleep will follow."

I shrunk back at the words "half past," which reminded me that I had not
even a twenty-shilling clock in the house.

"James," said the doctor, "have you no time in the house?" "No, I
suppose not," he answered himself. "Well, then, you must guess at it; oh
dear, bad work indeed. Come, James, put that bit of candle into the
lantern; I hope it does not rain now."

Wright opened the door, and I walked out with the lantern, the doctor
following, and, buttoning his coat clo