cover me, or the snow, but I won't lie weighed down by James and the tradesman's daughter and their children, not even to be beside you, my John, who would call it a loving burthen!'
She loved them, of course, her husband, her son. It would hurt her to leave them, and if her life had not been limited to, at the most, a twelve-month, she would have gone on as usual, always hoping some day to break the monotony, always knowing in her heart that she never would while the grave was a vague and unthinkable end.
She would hesitate no longer. She had made up her mind at last. Even this morning she had bid them good-bye with more than usual fondness. She had left everything comfortable, even the buttons were fixed on James's coat for him to-night; she knew he wanted it to pay a particular call on the tradesman's daughter. He would fix up everything this evening with the girl's father, and return to tell his mother all that she knew already—but his mother would not be there when he returned.
She rose now and hastily put some things together. Her mind was made up. She went through the house with feverish haste, giving her
