Susan devoted herself to his care, and his attachment for her seemed to increase daily. While her father was busy with the labors of the farm, and her mother was occupied with household cares, she talked with him, read to him, sung to him, and in every way strove to make the time pass pleasantly, and to woo back to his veins the tide of health.
For a time there was an encouraging prospect of success, but the prospect was soon overcast. After the first rallying, he remained stationary for a time, and then began, almost imperceptibly, to decline. The cough, that grew more and more distinct and hollow, and profuse night sweats, awoke the most anxious solicitude on the part of his loving friends. Susan had, from the first, feared that he would not recover; but she had given no expression to her fears. Her father had entertained the most confident hopes, till the symptoms above noticed forced upon him the conviction that his brother was passing to the tomb. The faithful physician could not lessen that painful conviction. If the air of the country and careful nursing could not raise the patient, the case was hopeless. The soft breezes of autumn, and the ministerings of pure affection, seemed to be in vain.
"Brother," said Richard, one morning, "I should be glad to have you sit with me to-day, if your business will permit. If you should suffer a little loss thereby, it will be abundantly made up to you before long."
This was the first allusion he had made to the probable result of his disease. A tear stood in every eye, but no word was spoken, except in reply to his request.
"I will make arrangements in course of half an hour," said Henry, "that will allow me to be with you."
He did so, and from that hour was seldom absent from his brother's side.
"What has become of Harry Ford?" said Richard as they were sitting in the warm sunlight in the piazza, where they used to sit together long years ago. Autumn was creeping on apace, but the air was still bland and balmy. Harry was one of their early and most intimate playmates—a fine, cheerful, open-hearted boy, whose parents were the practical advocates of "the let-alone, do-nothing policy," in regard to education. Still, to the surprise of many, Harry conducted himself well in boyhood, and gave promise of becoming a worthy man.
"Harry Ford," replied Henry, "died a few years ago in the poor-house."
"Died in the poor-house! How came that to pass?"
"He became very intemperate, and, of course, very poor; and, in his last days, he was so abusive to his family, that they were obliged to send him to the poor-house."