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SKETCHES OF MARRIED LIFE.

decides! But there's the bell, I must go to it."

She returned to say that the Dr. was at the door, and ready to attend Miss Weston to the boat.

As she put her keys into Ruth's hand, Amy said to her, "I know Ruth that you will take the best care of my father. Be sure to remind him daily of his ride. Have no fear for me."

She could not speak to her father; she kissed him and hurried off.

CHAPTER XI.

"The billows they tumble with might, with might, She flings out her voice to the darksome night; Her bosom is heaving with sorrow."

WALLENSTEIN.

AMY was soon seated in the boat, by the side of the doctor, on her way to the island. After having ascertained from him every thing she could, with regard to Edward's case, she sunk into a profound silence.

The air was balmy soft. Here and there a light, fleecy cloud floated in the blue depths of the quiet heavens. The boat, as it danced along, looked like a plaything upon the restless, trembling waves of the glad ocean. All around looked bright and glorious, but all was unheeded by Amy. glittering spires, nor the

She saw not the bristling masts at

the noble wharves of the city. The neighboring heights, the green islands, the white sails, were to her as if they were not. She heard not the occasional remarks of the doctor, kindly intended to interest her, and help

her bear her anxious thoughts. There was an unutterable, an overwhelming feeling in her heart, that made her unconscious of every thing around her. Deep called unto deep in her soul. She sat in silence, looking fixedly at the island which they were fast approaching, as though in that little spot was concentrated all that life could give her of joy or

sorrow.

They arrived. The doctor introduced her to the kind matron of the hospital, and left her while he went to visit his patient, saying that he would soon be with her again. returned with a smile on his face, that was like life to Amy's heart.

He

"I find Mr. Selmar better," he said; "at least, as far as I can judge for the present; for he is asleep, which is a good symptom. If you can walk like a spirit, so as to be sure not to awake him, you can go and look at him; but if he should awake, you must be sure that you leave him without his recognizing you, as he has no idea of seeing you, and it would be a dangerous excitement to him."

Amy promised to obey his directions, and followed the doctor to her lover's apartment. The door was open. She entered the dark

ened room on tiptoe, scarcely breathing, lest she should awake him. She came to the bed-side. It was so dark she could not distinguish anything; she must wait till her eye adapts its vision to the dim light. O, how her soul was agonized, lest he should awake before she had seen and been satisfied that it was indeed the face of her dearest earthly friend that she was gazing at ! Presently, a shadowy outline seemed to emerge from the darkness. Still she could not recognize a single feature of the face. It grew a little more distinct. She stooped over him, straining every faculty to see. He moved his arm round, and his hand grasped a fold of her dress. She stood still as death, lest he should awake. He was quiet again, and his fingers relaxed their hold. Again she stooped over him, and her whole figure seemed instinct with the desire to see that beloved face. At last, deathly pale, and wasted, his eyes sunken in their sockets, she saw him distinctly the same, only so changed by disease!

For many minutes, Amy stood breathless and motionless, gazing, with her whole soul, upon her sleeping lover, when he suddenly started, and awoke. She left the room

before he perceived her. She met the physician at the door, who entered without speaking. With the most intense anxiety, Amy stood waiting in the passage-way for the return of the doctor. She saw, at the first glance that she caught of his face, as he came from the apartment, that his decision was unfavorable to her hopes. She felt her lips and tongue grow rigid, as she attempted to speak and ask what her heart so trembled to know.

"Cannot I go in? Is he not better?"

I

"I am disappointed," said the doctor, "at the state in which I find him. I thought he would awake better; it is not so. I think it would not be well for him to see you now; any great excitement might injure him. dare not venture it. He is more ill than he has been. There must be some change soon. We must hope for the best. Tonight will be the critical time."

"Oh! let me watch by him to-night," said Amy.

"I fear that he would recognize you; for he has his senses perfectly. He has a most excellent nurse; and I will be with him myself as much as possible, and you shall be kept informed of his state. Let me conduct