Having dealt out the prescribed medicines, calculated rather to increase than check the poor woman's malady, which was inflammation of the lungs, the self-satisfied doctor, swelling with his own importance, departed, leaving his patient now to contend with two evils, instead of one--a dangerous disease, and the more dangerous effects of a quack's prescription. “What time is it now, Barty?” asked the invalid, with a deep sigh, as she awoke from a troubled slumber, into which she had fallen after the doctor's departure. “Why, don't know exactly, mistress,” answered Bart, rousing himself from the dreamy abstraction in which he had been indulging, as he sat looking into the decaying fire--“don't know, exactly; but it has got a considerable piece into the night. About nine o'clock, guess; may be more.” “Nine o'clock at night, and Harry not yet returned!” sighed the invalid. “Well, well, I will complain no more.” “Can I do any thing for you, mistress?” asked her untutored attendant, touched at the sad and despondent tone of the other. “You may bring me in a pitcher of fresh, cold water, with some ice in it, if you will, Barty,” replied the former. “It seems to me as if this inward heat was consuming my vitals, since I took the doctor's medicines.” The youth, with noiseless step, then disappeared with his pitcher, and, in a few moments, returned with it filled with water and several pieces of clear, pure ice, which were heard dashing against its sides. “How grateful!” said the sick woman, as she took from her lips the wooden cup which had been filled and handed her by her attendant, and from which she had eagerly drained nearly a pint of the cooling beverage at a single draught. “There, now, set the pitcher on the table yonder, and raise the largest piece of ice up in sight, so, as I lie here, I can look at it. The mere sight of it seems to do me good.” Another dreary hour rolled away in silence, which was broken only by the restless motions and occasional suppressed groans of the invalid within, and the wailing of the winds and the pattering of the rain against the windows without, when a slow, heavy step was heard coming up to the house. “That is he--that is his step!” faintly exclaimed the sick woman, partially raising herself in bed, and gazing eagerly towards the door; while her pain-contracted features were, for the moment, smoothed by the smile of affection and pleasure that now broke over them, like the faint electric illumining of a weeping cloud.