At nearly midnight on Friday there had been a cessation in the shocks for about twenty-four hours, and the people were resting quietly. Then came a convulsion second only in severity to the first one which had wrought such widespread ruin. "It had scarcely died away," to quote from the account referred to, "before there rose through the still night air in the direction of the public squares and parks the now familiar but still terrible cries of thousands of wailing voices, united in one vast chorus, expressive only of the utmost human misery. For a while this sound was heard above all other sounds, suggesting vividly to the mind what has been told by survivors of the scene that follows the sinking of a great ship at sea, when its living freight is left struggling with the waves; and this impression was heightened to the distant auditor by the gradual diminution in the volume of the cries, as though voice after voice were being silenced, as life after life were quenched beneath the tossing waves." Dr. Devoe advised Mr. Houghton to leave the city, but he said, "No, I shall remain with my children; I shall share in the fortunes of the city which is henceforth to be my home." Mrs. Hunter did not long survive, but she became quiet and rational before her end. To Mara's imploring words she replied calmly, "No, my time is near; and I feel that it is best. I belong to the old order of things, and have lingered too long already. I may have been mistaken in my feelings, and wrong in my enmities, but I had great provocation. Now I forgive as I hope to be forgiven. God grant, dear child, that you may have brighter days." A sad little company followed her to the cemetery, and as they laid her to rest, they also spread over her memory the mantle of a broad, loving charity. For a time it seemed as if brighter days could never come to Mara, for Clancy's life flickered like the light of an expiring candle. At last the fever broke and he became rational, the pure, open air conducing to his recovery. He was very weak and his convalescence was slow, measuring the mental and physical strain through which he had passed. Never had a poor mortal more faithful watchers, never was life wooed back from the dark shore by more devoted love. "Live, live," was ever the language of Mara's eyes, and happiness gave him the power to live. Captain Bodine carried out both the letter and spirit of his note. While he was very gentle, he was also very firm with Mara, expressing only paternal affection and also exerting paternal authority. At proper times he told her to go and rest in tones which she obeyed.