and solemn, and the result so sure, that day by day, and grain by
grain, the mortal part wastes and withers away, so that the spirit grows
light and sanguine with its lightening load, and, feeling immortality at
hand, deems it but a new term of mortal life; a disease in which death
and life are so strangely blended, that death takes the glow and hue
of life, and life the gaunt and grisly form of death; a disease which
medicine never cured, wealth never warded off, or poverty could boast
exemption from; which sometimes moves in giant strides, and sometimes at
a tardy sluggish pace, but, slow or quick, is ever sure and certain.

It was with some faint reference in his own mind to this disorder,
though he would by no means admit it, even to himself, that Nicholas had
already carried his faithful companion to a physician of great repute.
There was no cause for immediate alarm, he said. There were no present
symptoms which could be deemed conclusive. The constitution had been
greatly tried and injured in childhood, but still it MIGHT not be--and
that was all.

But he seemed to grow no worse, and, as it was not difficult to find a
reason for these symptoms of illness in the shock and agitation he had
recently undergone, Nicholas comforted himself with the hope that his
poor friend would soon recover. This hope his mother and sister shared
with him; and as the object of their joint solicitude seemed to have
no uneasiness or despondency for himself, but each day answered with a
quiet smile that he felt better than he had upon the day before, their
fears abated, and the general happiness was by degrees restored.

Many and many a time in after years did Nicholas look back to this
period of his life, and tread again the humble quiet homely scenes that
rose up as of old before him. Many and many a time, in the twilight of a
summer evening, or beside the flickering winter's fire--but not so often
or so sadly then--would his thoughts wander back to these old days, and
dwell with a pleasant sorrow upon every slight remembrance which they
brought crowding home. The little room in which they had so often sat
long after it was dark, figuring such happy futures; Kate's cheerful
voice and merry laugh; how, if she were from home, they used to sit and
watch for her return scarcely breaking silence but to say how dull it
seemed without her; the glee with which poor Smike would start from the
darkened corner where he used to sit, and hurry t