THE ROBBER.
“A friend of mine who had long struggled with a dangerous fever, approached that crisis on which his life depended, when sleep, uninterrupted sleep might ensure his recovery;—his wife, scarcely daring to breathe, sat by him; her servants, worn out by watching, had all left her; it was past midnight,—the room door was open for air; she heard in the silence of the night a window thrown open below stairs, and soon after footsteps approaching; in a short time, a man came into the room—his face was covered with a black crape: she instantly saw her husband’s danger; she pointed to him, and, pressing her finger upon her lip to implore silence, held out to the robber her purse and her keys: to her great surprise he took neither; he drew back, and left the room,—whether he was alarmed, or struck by this courage of affection cannot now be known; but, without robbing a house sanctified by such strength of love—he departed.”