"Go, Ann," he continued, "leave me to watch and pray beside this forlorn creature, and, if the Angel of Death spreads his wings on this midnight blast, I think I should welcome him; for life, with its broken promises and its cold humanity, sickens me—oh so much."
And his beautiful head fell languidly on his breast; and again I listened to that low, husky cough. To-night it had an unusual sound, and, forgetful of the humble relation in which I stood to him, I grasped his arm firmly but lovingly, saying,
"Hark to that cough! Now you must go in."
"No, I cannot. I know best; besides, since nothing less gentle will do, I needs must use authority, and command you to go."
"I would that you did not exercise your authority against yourself."
But he waved me off. Reluctantly I obeyed him. Again I entered the cabin and roused Amy, who slept on a pallet or heap of straw at the foot of the bed, where the still, unbreathing form of my old friend lay. It was difficult to awake her, for she was always wearied at night, and slept with that deep soundness peculiar to healthful childhood; but, after various shakes, I contrived to make her open her eyes and speak to me.
"Come Amy," I said, "rouse, I want you to help me."
"In what way and what fur you wake me up?" she said as she sat upright on the straw, and began rubbing her eyes.
"Never mind, but you get up and I will tell you."
When she was fairly awake, she assisted me in lifting in a large tub of water.