me for a while: I will
try to compose my mind, and strengthen myself for these hours of pain."

Charles drew the curtains round the bed, and sat down in the
window-seat. He did feel sick at heart. His head throbbed, and his
heart beat thick, when he thought of the agony he had witnessed, of what
was yet to be undergone by his companion, and of the dreadful disclosure
which must be made to the father and mother, who were now probably
counting the minutes as they flew, in the hope of a joyous meeting with
their son. By degrees, he became aware that he was looking only at the
dark side of the picture. He reproached himself for overlooking the
mercies which had attended this dispensation. His own preservation,
that of many besides, that only one life was lost among so many, that
the suffering had fallen upon those who were apparently the best able to
bear it; and he was not forgetful that the warning which was afforded
them all of the uncertainty of life, and health, and peace, was of
itself a great mercy. He now remarked the sun disappearing behind the
hills, and remembered how he had watched it declining in the heavens,
with the confident expectation that the hours of succeeding darkness
would be spent in the home of his sisters; that, before the sun should
rise again, he would have embraced them, have looked on their faces, and
heard their voices, and exchanged affectionate greetings with them. Now
the night was to be passed beside the bed of pain, and the sunrise would
find him, probably, exhausted and spiritless, and still far from those
he loved. "What a little way can we see!" thought Charles: "how
uncertain should we ever feel of the future! how prepared for whatever
may happen! how grateful for every exemption from suffering! I am not
happy now; I cannot be happy while one is near me who is suffering
severely: but let me be grateful: let me remember my preservation from
personal injury, and let me trust that those who suffer will find
strength and comfort from Him who has blessed and preserved me."

While these thoughts passed through his mind, tears coursed each other
down his cheeks. He did not check them, for he found relief from these
quiet tears. He was, meantime, not forgetful of his charge: he listened
to his breathing; it was, at first, loud and irregular, as of one in
pain, and now and then a deep sob could be heard. Still Charles sat
quiet, for he judged rightly that Monteath would be better a