CHAPTER XLI.
A REVELATION—DEATH THE PEACEFUL ANGEL—CALMNESS.
Months passed by after the events told in the last chapter—passed, I scarce know how. They have told me that I wandered about like one in the mazes of a troubled dream. My reason was disturbed. I've no distinct idea how the days or weeks were employed. Vague remembrances of kindly words, music, odorous flowers, and a trip to a beautiful, quiet country-house, I sometimes have; but 'tis all so misty and dream-like, that I can form no tangible idea of it. So this period has almost faded out of mind, and is like lost pages from the chronicle of life.
When the winter was far spent, and during the snowy days of February, my mind began to collect its shattered forces. The approach of another trouble brought back consciousness with rekindled vigor.
One day I became aware that Miss Nancy was very ill. It seemed as if a thick vapor, like a breath-stain on glass, had suddenly been wiped away from my mind; and I saw clearly. There lay Miss Nancy upon her bed, appallingly white, with her large eyes sunken deeply in their sockets, and her lips purple as an autumn leaf. Her thin, white hand, with discolored nails, was thrown upon the covering, and aroused my alarm. I rushed to her, fearing that the vital spark no longer animated that loved and once lovely frame.
"Miss Nancy, dear Miss Nancy," I cried, "speak to me, only one word."
She started nervously, "Oh, who are you? Ah, Ann—is it Ann?"