“How could you forget to write to me, Chirsty?” continued her uncle. “The woman, to be sure, is not so bad a woman after all; but you and I were so happy here alone together. But I have been a fool, Chirsty; yet she is your aunt, and my wife, so we must e’en submit, and make the best of it.”
“Gracious Providence, support me in this trying hour!” cried Chirsty fervently.
“What!” cried the nabob, in a voice louder than she could have supposed his exhausted state could have admitted of. “What! is the ship to sail for Calcutta so soon? May the God of all goodness be with you then, Chirsty, my love! Keep up your spirits, my sweet girl, you will come home to me soon with a husband and pagodas in plenty. But forget not to write often to me. Your failing in that has already worked evil enough to us both.”
“Oh, my dear, dear uncle!” cried Chirsty, quite overpowered by her feelings, and sobbing audibly.
“Nay, cry not so bitterly, my dear child,” said the nabob. “Trust me, we shall, meet again. And if we should not meet again here—if it should please God to remove me from this world ere you return, our sound Christian hope assures us, that we shall meet in another and a better. But, hold!” cried he with a more than natural energy, that seemed to be produced by some sudden and great organic change in his system. “The anchor is up—quick, aboard, aboard! God for ever bless and guard you, my love! my Chirsty!—farewell! Ha! the gallant ship, see how her sails swell with the breeze!—she goes merrily. But—but—how comes this sudden darkness over me? She is gone!—all is gone!—gone!—go—o—oh!” and his words terminated in a long deep groan.
Chirsty hastily dried up her tears, and anxiously scanned her uncle’s face. His spirit had once more retreated from his glassy eyes—his face had again become deadly pale—his hands were cold, and their pulses had ceased. She shrieked aloud until help came, but it was too late—her uncle was dead.
Chirsty was no sooner made certain that all was over with her poor uncle than her nervous feelings, which had been screwed up to the racking pitch by this trying scene, gave way, and she fell in a swoon, that terminated in a repetition of that feverish attack which she had had in India, upon which delirium supervened; and when, after a period of nearly three weeks, she was again sensible of the return of reason, she found herself lying in bed with her hands muffled, as they had been the first night she had slept in the asylum. She awaked from a long, tranquil, and refreshing sleep; and little Nancy, who was seated by her bedside, immediately ran off for Sarah, who came directly.
“Aye,” said that hideous creature, after surveying her countenance attentively, “she seems quiet enough now. The fit has gone off for this bout.”
“I have been very ill,” said Chirsty faintly, “but now, thank God, I am better.”
“You have given me trouble enough i’facks,” said Sarah. “But here is something that the doctor ordered you to drink; take this, and try to sleep again.”