This was sufficient. A well-filled purse was placed in Fanny’s hands, with liberty to do as she pleased. Then with untiring love, aching heart and throbbing temples, she worked on day after day, until all was completed, parlor, bridal chamber and all. The hangings and drapery of the latter were as white and pure as was she who so patiently worked on, while each fresh beauty added to the room pierced her heart with a deeper anguish, as she thought what and whom it was for. When her mother remonstrated against such unceasing toil, she would smile a sweet, sad smile and say, "Don’t hinder me, dear mother, ’tis all I can do to show my love for Julia, and after I am gone they will perhaps think more kindly of me, when they know how I worked for them." At last all was done; the finishing stroke was given, and then came a reaction. Fanny took her bed, and her father, instantly, alarmed, called the nearest physician. Dr. Gordon readily saw that Fanny’s disease was in her mind, and in reply to Mrs. Middleton’s inquiries, he frankly told his opinion, and said that unless the cause of her melancholy could be removed, the consequence might be fatal. "Don’t tell my husband," said Mrs. Middleton, "his life is bound up in Fanny, and the day that sees her dead will, I fear, also make me a widow." Accordingly, Mr. Middleton was deceived into a belief that Fanny’s illness was the result of over-exertion, and that she would soon recover. In a day or two she seemed better, but was not able to come downstairs. Instead, she had no desire or intention of doing so until after the wedding, for she felt she could not, would not, see Dr. Lacey for the world. Since the receipt of her sister’s letter she had been given a holier love, a firmer faith, than aught on earth can bestow, and she was now under the influence of religion; of lasting, true religion. This then was the reason why she welcomed her sister so affectionately, and felt no emotion either of resentment or anger toward those who were thus trampling on the bleeding fibers of her heart. As Julia kissed the almost transparent brow of her sister, and clasped her thin, white fingers, tears gathered in her eyes and she thought, "This ruin have I wrought, and for it I must answer"; but not long did she ever suffer her conscience to trouble her, and the next hour she was chatting away to Fanny about the preparations for her wedding, which was to take place one week from that day. Fanny listened as one who heard not. She was praying for more grace, more strength to endure yet a little longer.