Towne say that he would come and stay with you to-night? Are not people very sick when they have a consultation?"

"Sometimes. What are you doing over there?"

"It is time for your powder; you must sleep, they all say so. Will you try to go to sleep after you take this?"

"Yes, if you will sing to me."

He raised himself on his elbow and took the spoon from her hand. "You have been a good wife to me, Susan."

"Of course I have. Isn't that what I promised. There, you spilled some; how weak your fingers are! you are like a baby. I don't like babies."

"Don't say that," falling back upon the pillow. "I want you to be womanly, dear, and true women love babies."

"They are such a bother."

"So are husbands."

"When you get well, you will not be a bother! Can't you talk any louder?"

"Sit down close to me. How long have I been sick?"

"Oh, I don't know! The nights and days are just alike."

"I expect that you are worn out. We will go to sleep together. I wish we could."

"You mustn't talk, you must go to sleep."

"Say, Susan," catching her hand in both his, "are you glad you married me?"

"Of course I am glad; that is, I shall be when you get well."

"You wouldn't like a feeble husband dragging on you all your days, would you?"

"No, I _wouldn't_. Who would? Would you like a feeble wife dragging on _you_ all your days?"

"I would like _you_, sick or well."

"I knew you would say that. You and Tessa and Dr. Towne are sentimental.

What do you think he said to me last night. 'Be very gentle and careful with him, do not even speak loud.'"

"He is very kind."

"As if I _wouldn't_ be gentle!"

"Bring your chair close and sing."

"I don't feel like singing; this room is dark and hot, and I am sleepy."

"Well, never mind."

She pushed a chair close to the low bed and sat down; he took her hand and held it between his flushed hot hands. "G.o.d bless you forever, and ever, my darling wife!"

"That's too solemn," said Sue in an awed voice; "don't say such things; I shall believe that you are going to die, if you do. Do go to sleep, that's a good boy."

He laid his finger on his wrist keeping it there a full minute.

"Are you stronger?" she asked eagerly. "Father will not say when I ask him and Dr. Towne only looked at me."

He lifted her hand to his lips and smiled.

"Now sing."

"What shall I sing?"

"Any thing. Every thing. 'Jesus, lover of my soul.' I always liked that."

The clear, strong voice trembled nervously over the first words; she was afraid, but she did not know what she was afraid of; his eyelids drooped, he kept tight hold of her hand.

She sang the hymn through and then asked what he would like next.

"I was almost dreaming. Sue is a pretty name, so is Gerald; but I would not like my boy to be named Gerald. Theodore means the _gift of G.o.d_; I like that; Theodore or Theodora. If you ever name a child, will you remember that?"

"I shall never name a child; I don't like children well enough to fuss over them. Now, what else?"

"'Jerusalem the golden.'"

"Oh, you don't want that! It's too solemn. I won't sing it, I'll sing something livelier. Don't you like 'Who are these in bright array?'"

The eyelids drooped, he did not loosen his clasp, and she sang on; once, when she paused, he whispered, "Go on."

The snow fell softly, melting on the window-sill, the wood fire burnt low, she drew her hand away and went to the stove to put in a stick of wood; he did not stir, his hands were still half-clasped; through the half-shut lids, his eyes shone dim and dark. She was very weary; she laid her head on the white counterpane near his hands and fell asleep.

Dr. Greyson entered, stood a moment near the door and went out; Dr.

Towne came to the threshold, his eyes filled as he stood, he closed the door and went down-stairs; he opened the front parlor door, thinking of the two as they stood there together such a little time since, and thinking of Tessa's face as he saw it that morning. "She will love him always if he leaves her now," he said to himself; "when she is old, she will look back and grieve for him. Tessa would, but Sue-there's no reckoning upon her. Why are not all women like Tessa and my mother?"

He drove homeward, thinking many thoughts; of late, in the light of Tessa's words, he could behold himself as she beheld him; she would have been satisfied, could she have known the depth of his self-accusation; "No man but a fool could _be_ such a fool," he had said to himself more than once. "There is no chance that she will take me."

Meanwhile Sue awoke from her heavy sleep; it was growing colder, the snow was falling and not melting, the room was quite dark.

"I have been asleep," said Dr. Lake.

"And now you are better," cried Sue, joyfully. "I knew that you were moping and had the blues."

Through that night and the next day, Miss Jewett watched with Sue; before another morning broke, Sue-poor widowed Sue!-was taken in hysterics from the room.

XXII.-SEVERAL OTHER THINGS.