and the sea so boisterous the water came in at the cabin windows; and the ship rolled about in such a manner, it was dangerous to stir. The women were sea-sick the whole time, and the poor invalid so oppressed by his complaints, I never expected he would live to see Lisbon. I have supported him for hours together gasping for breath, and at night, if I had been inclined for sleep, his dreadful cough would have kept me awake. You may suppose that I have not rested much since I came here, yet I am tolerably well, and calmer than I could expect to be. Could I not look for comfort where only 'tis to be found, I should have been mad before this, but I feel that I am supported by that Being who alone can heal a wounded spirit. May He bless you both.
Yours,
Mary.
Her state of uncertainty about poor Fanny did not last long. Shortly after the above letter was written, Mrs. Skeys died. Just as life was beginning to smile upon her, she was called from it. She had worked so long that when happiness at length came, she had no strength left to bear it.
Godwin, in his Memoirs, says that Mary's trip to Portugal probably enlarged her understanding. "She was admitted," he writes, "to the very best company the English colony afforded. She made many profound observations on the character of the natives and the baleful effects of superstition." But it seems doubtful whether she really saw many people in Lisbon, or gave great heed to what was going on around her. Arrived there just in time to see her friend die, she remained but a short time after all was over. There was no inducement for her to make a longer stay. Her feelings for Mr. Skeys were not friendly. She could not forget that had he but treated Fanny as she, for example, would have done had she been in his place, this early death might have been prevented. Her school, intrusted to Mrs. Bishop's care, was a
