for breakfast, into the room adjoining mine, I could hear her murmur to herself:
"Poor thing! She has lived so long in the fields and at the roadside, she finds it unnatural to be cooped up in the house all night."
The trial of that breakfast! The effort to eat and appear unconcerned, to chat and make no mistake,—may I never be called upon to go through such another! But at last it was over, and I was left free to await in my own room the time for the dreaded though much-to-be-desired interview. Slowly the minutes passed; eight o’clock struck, when, just as the last vibration ceased, there came a loud knock at the backdoor, and a little boy burst into the kitchen, crying at the top of his voice: "Papa’s got a fit! Oh, Mrs. Belden! papa’s got a fit; do come!"
Rising, as was natural, I hastened towards the kitchen, meeting Mrs. Belden’s anxious face in the doorway.
"A poor wood-chopper down the street has fallen in a fit," she said. "Will you please watch over the house while I see what I can do for him? I won’t be absent any longer than I can help."
And almost without waiting for my reply, she caught up a shawl, threw it over her head, and followed the urchin, who was in a state of great excitement, out into the street.
Instantly the silence of death seemed to fill the house, and a dread the greatest I had ever experienced settled upon me. To leave the kitchen, go up those stairs, and confront that girl seemed for the moment beyond my power; but, once on the stair, I found myself relieved from the especial dread which had overwhelmed me, and possessed, instead, of a sort of
