On opening the door, the darkness seemed so total, every window being closed, that Emmeline, satisfied she could not be observed, followed Mr. Pelham to the bed-side; the curtain was down, so that she could not see Fitzhenry’s face, but merely heard him breathe; by degrees, as her eyes got used to the obscurity, and judging by his immovable stillness, that he had not observed their entrance, she ventured gently to put the curtain aside and look on him. But to the fond eye of love alone was he the same Fitzhenry from whom she had parted scarcely a month before. His eyes were closed; his cheek was sunk and colourless; his brown curly hair fell lank on his pale forehead, which was contracted with the expression of suffering. The sight was too much for her, and totally overcame her recently-formed resolution of leaving him for ever. She sunk on her knees at his side; her hand fell on his, which lay apparently lifeless on the bed; and, in the agony of her feelings, careless of consequences, she covered with tears and with kisses, that hand which she had never before dared to touch; but which now felt not her fervent lips; was insensible to her burning tears, and lay passive within hers. Emmeline remained fixed at the bed-side of her husband. The former unhappiness of their connexion, his indifference and even apparent dislike, her own punctilious distance of manner toward him, all seemed now forgotten by her. In trembling anxiety, she watched each heaving of his bosom, each movement of his languid limbs; and how her heart throbbed the first time his lips moved, and that she heard his voice! It was weak and hollow; but still it was that voice which thrilled to her inmost soul; he expressed a wish for something to moisten his parched mouth; Pelham brought the glass to Emmeline; her trembling hand was steadied when she held it to his lips, while she put her arm round him to support his head. She now seemed his established sick nurse: what she should do when his amendment allowed him to know who it was that was attending upon him, never was talked of, indeed was never thought of by Emmeline. To be allowed to see him constantly, to perform for him the offices of affection, was such happiness that she would not destroy it by venturing to look forward. She gave him all his medicines. Sometimes, unconscious what he did, he took hold of her hand, and held it long within his; but, exhausted apparently by his illness, he never opened his eyes, never enquired what he took, nor from whose hands he received it. The physicians, however, assured Emmeline, that this insensibility was merely the natural consequence of the violence of the fever through which he had struggled, that they hourly saw some amendment, and found increased strength of pulse.