Dear mother also was besieging the throne of grace in his behalf. But he lay unconscious of the agonized hearts throbbing near him, anxiously watching every breath he drew. Dr. Clapp was to be with him through Monday night. Mother besought me to try to sleep. I wondered if she thought I could ever sleep again? But I only shook my head. The crisis was rapidly approaching. I saw that not a sigh, or a groan escaped the notice of our kind physician; but I was calm. I even wondered at myself. A strong, but invisible arm was put round about me to strengthen me, and I leaned upon it to sustain my drooping spirit. The night passed slowly away, the morning began to dawn; not a word had been spoken for the past hour. Dr. Clapp sat with his fingers upon the wrist of his patient, where he could scarce feel the fluttering pulse. Ever and anon he would take the candle from the table, hold it before the face of the pale sufferer, and then silently shade it again. At length he arose, and putting his fingers upon his lips, to enjoin perfect silence, he withdrew from the room. Nothing could be heard but the ticking of the watch and our own loud breathing. It seemed a long, _long_ time that the Doctor was absent, and when he came in, I saw he had been weeping. In an agony of grief my very soul yearned for one more look, one more word of love. I hardly dared to uncover my face. When I did so, the Doctor was wetting his patient's lips with a sponge. Then he sat down again, with his fingers upon the pulse. What had come over the man? I wiped my eyes to see clearer. His whole face was lit up with an expression, to which it had for many days been a stranger; but I dared not hope. Again and again the sponge was dipped in the cup and applied to the parched lips, and still we sat, as though we had no tongues, or knew not how to use them, when feeling that I could not breathe, I silently arose and left the room. The kind watcher followed, and leading me down stairs to the library, shut the door, and in a husky voice said, "My dear Mrs. Lenox, the crisis has passed, and your husband still lives." I started from my chair. "Compose yourself, my dear lady," he continued. "There is hope that he may recover," and our sympathizing friend wept tears of joy. But for me the reaction was too great. I felt myself falling to the floor. When I recovered Pauline was bathing my temples. Dr. Clapp had left the room and returned to his patient. I speedily recovered and followed him, and was softly stepping toward the bed where mother sat holding her beloved son by the hand. But the physician saw me and motioned me back. I withdrew into the hall, where he soon joined me, and leading me away from the door, said, "Your husband is now conscious, and will recognize you. Can you compose yourself? The least excitement may be fatal to him."