When I awoke the next morning, which I did from a troubled nap after day-break, I could not at first remember what had happened, such a heavy weight was upon my spirits. If any one had told me then, that I was not the most unhappy person in the world, I should have considered them very unkind.
Frank actually started when I tried to rise, and would have persuaded me to lie down again; but I was determined to do as I chose, and persisted until a sudden fit of faintness compelled me to return to my bed. I felt so severely the effects of my night's excitement, that I began to be really anxious about the result. If Frank spoke to me, I averted my head. I could not endure to meet his eye; and when he kindly went below and brought a cup of coffee to the bed, I refused to take it. I could only sob and say, "I want to go home. I must see my own mother."
The Doctor was now seriously alarmed, and went for aunt. With true motherly kindness, she administered to me, persuaded me to drink the coffee and eat a slice of dry toast. She then smoothed my pillow, darkened the room and left me, after a promise that I would at least try to sleep. She left a small bell upon the table, and said, "no one shall come in until you ring."
To my surprise, when I awoke, the sun was shining high in the heavens; and on my consulting my watch, I found it was near noon. I arose quietly and dressed, and not a little astonished the company sitting in the parlor below, by my sudden entrance. It made me feel no better, however, to perceive, as I did at a glance, that my husband and his cousin occupied seats near each other on the sofa, as on the previous evening. But the Doctor was busily engaged in reading, and did not perceive me until I had advanced to the middle of the room.
"There, Frank," exclaimed Fidelia, as he sprang up to give me his seat, "I told you, you were unnecessarily alarmed. Now, sweet cousin," said she, turning to look up in my face, and mincing her words, "confess you were only shamming."
"Fidelia," said my aunt, in a stern voice. I did not look to see what Frank thought; I did not care. I covered my eyes to prevent the tears from being seen. I wanted to keep them covered forever rather than to see Fidelia's face again. In justice to myself, I ought to say, that probably this state of mind, which was greatly aggravated by the condition of my health, would soon have passed away, had it not been for the continual suggestions and insinuations of Fidelia. Sometimes by a word, sometimes by a significant shrug of the shoulders; then, again, by a glance of the eye, she gave a false coloring to the most trivial words or actions, and