For once my Mamie Rose was wrong and it was the "once" that counted.
My misgivings were many when I left her at her home, but she assured me that she was in no danger of feeling the effects of the dampness.
I called on the following evening.
She had been in bed all day.
Of course it was nothing. "Just a trifling cold," that was all—but the beginning of the end had come.
She laughed at us for our fears.
"Why, I'll be up and about the same as ever to-morrow."
To-morrow! To-morrow multiplied into dread, fearsome weeks. Yes, for weeks she painfully lingered on her bed, and I marveled with awe at the heroic spirit of my little girl.
The weakness increased until she looked like a dainty statue hewn in alabaster.
It was only a trifle more than a week before the date set for our wedding. The physician stepped from her bed and beckoned me to follow him into the next room.