It was well for Jane Chester that she could neither see nor hear all this--that the fever had grown strong enough to shut out all the real world to her heated senses! As it was, the sight of these miserable objects did create some new and more harrowing pain. She began to murmur of the torment to which she had been consigned--of the strange, heavy fiends so unwieldy and coarse that had taken her in charge. Every event of that fearful day was absolutely thrusting her a step nearer to the grave. Just as the driver had dismounted from his seat and was about to open the door, the Alms House van came tumbling along the pavement and into the court with another freight of misery. Along by the carriage and nearer to the entrance rolled the ponderous black vehicle, and out from its tomb-like depths were taken forth the men and women, that an hour before had been lying so helplessly on the benches at the Commissioner's office. One by one these poor creatures were carried up the steps, and after them rolled the idiot, calling out--money, money--as if the emigrants whom England consigns to our charity, had anything but their own miserable lives to give away. And now with the heat, the noise, and the motion of the carriage, the poor invalid became almost frantic. She struggled with the stranger--she called wildly for Chester--and would have cast herself headlong to the pavement, for in her hallucination she fancied that the pauper gang were carrying away her husband. They bore her into the Alms House in a fit of momentary exhaustion. Her name and history was a blank in the Alms House books. Her lips were speechless--her eyes closed. They only knew that she was nameless, homeless; and thus was her entrance registered. And now came two men to carry her to the hospital. One was old, with grey hairs, who tottered beneath his burden; and the other a pale lad, who had just recovered from the fever. Out through the back entrance, down a flight of steps into the hot sunshine again, they bore the helpless woman, her garments sweeping the pavement, and her pale hand sometimes striking the stones as they passed along. But there was no rest for her yet; another registering was to be made. In the Hospital office a pauper clerk had charge, and to his investigation the invalid must be consigned. He was no physician, certainly; but the hospital was divided into wards, each ward having its own class of diseases. It was this man's prerogative to decide what particular malady afflicted each patient, and to assign the proper ward. The two men placed Mrs. Chester in a chair, and the stranger stood behind it supporting her head upon his arm. The clerk had entered the blank order upon his books, and now came forward to examine the patient. "Put out your tongue?" The order was given in a peremptory tone, worthy the captain of a Down-East militia company. Poor Mrs. Chester opened her wild eyes and looked at the man.