o
not think she will rise from that bed again."

Helen sighed, and tears gathered in her eyes. She accompanied Arthur to
the door, that she might put the strong bar across it, which was Miss
Thusa's substitute for a lock.

"Perhaps I may call on my return," said he, "but it is very doubtful.
Take care of yourself and keep warm. And if any unfavorable change takes
place, send the woman for me. And now good-night--dear, good, brave
Helen. May God bless, and angels watch over you."

He pressed her hand, wrapped his cloak around him, and left Helen to her
solitary vigils. She lifted the massy bar with trembling hands, and slid
it into the iron hooks, fitted to receive it. Her hands trembled, but
not from fear, but delight. Arthur had called her "dear and brave"--and
long after she had reseated herself by the lonely hearth, the echo of
his gentle, manly accents, seemed floating round the walls.

The illness of Miss Thusa was very sudden. She had risen in the morning
in usual health, and pursued until noon her customary occupation--when,
all at once, as she told the young doctor, "it seemed as if a knife went
through her heart, and a wedge into her brain--and she was sure it was a
death-stroke." For the first time, in the course of her long life, she
was obliged to take her bed, and there she lay in helplessness and
loneliness, unable to summon relief. The young doctor called in the
afternoon as a friend, and found his services imperatively required as a
physician. The only wish she expressed was to have Helen with her, and
as soon as he had relieved the sufferings of his patient, Arthur brought
Helen to the Hermitage. When she arrived, Miss Thusa was under the
influence of an opiate, but opening her heavy eyes, a ray of light
emanated from the dim, gray orbs, as Helen, pale and awe-struck,
approached her bedside. She was appalled at seeing that powerful frame
so suddenly prostrated--she was shocked at the change a few hours had
wrought in those rough, but commanding features. The large eye-balls
looked sunken, and darkly shaded below, while a wan, gray tint, melting
off into a bluish white on the temples, was spread over the face.

"You will stay with me to-night, my child," said she, in a voice
strangely altered. "I've got something to tell you--and the time is
come."

"Yes. I will stay with you as long as you wish, Miss Thusa," replied
Helen, passing her hand softly over the hoary looks that shaded the brow
of the s