From that time until morning dawned, he never left her side, and when the sun arose, he felt almost as if his sister had been given back to him from the dead. But their trials were by no means over, for during that day one of the servants died, and Miss Rochester appeared to be sinking. But what need to dwell upon those wretched experiences? upon the almost superhuman effort of Dr. Winthrop to save the precious lives in his charge; of the faithfulness of those tireless nurses, who neglected nothing, and yet exercised the utmost care over their own health for the sake of their patients. Those were experiences that could never be forgotten, but they could not endure forever, and when those who had been so near the borders of the other world began to recover, and Dr. Winthrop pronounced them out of danger, Sister Angela and Harriet Winter were relieved by two other women, and sent away for needful rest. CHAPTER XXII. AN APPALLING DISCOVERY. Meantime, Mr. Tillinghast had been steadily gaining, and when all fear of any further danger from the scourge was past, Dr. Winthrop arranged that he should come out to the villa to spend a week or two, to gain a little more strength, after which he contemplated sending him to some healthful resort with the other invalids who were now rapidly convalescing. They were all sitting together one evening, talking of the terrible epidemic, whose force was gradually becoming exhausted, and of the wonderful escape which they, as a family, had had, when Madame Winthrop feelingly remarked: “I suppose very few have had the care which we have received; that old maid, Harriet, was a treasure of a nurse while Sister Angela was a perfect wonder. She seemed to know by instinct just the right thing to do. I do not believe she made a single mistake while she was here.” “The ‘Angel in Gray,’” murmured Mr. Tillinghast, a look of reverence sweeping over his still thin face, and then he told them how she had been beloved in the hospital, and why she had been called so. They were all enthusiastic in their praises—all save Dr. Winthrop, who had been lying wearily back in his chair, evidently too inert and indifferent to join in any conversation. He could not seem to recover his normal strength and vigor, after the strain of those terrible weeks, and his friends were very anxious about him; yet not more so than usual upon this particular evening, and no one thought it strange when, after a while, he arose and quietly passed out of the room. His friend, Tillinghast, however, thinking he might have gone out for a smoke, followed him after a few moments, and found him in the dining-room mixing something in a tumbler. “Thirsty, True?” he began, then suddenly catching sight of his ghastly face, he exclaimed, “Good heavens, Winthrop! what ails you?”