she could endure the greatest fatigue without appearing sensible of it.

When Ann recovered, they returned slowly home; she was carried to bed,
and the next morning Mary thought she observed a visible change for the
worse. The physician was sent for, who pronounced her to be in the most
imminent danger.

All Mary's former fears now returned like a torrent, and carried every
other care away; she even added to her present anguish by upbraiding
herself for her late tranquillity--it haunted her in the form of a
crime.

The disorder made the most rapid advances--there was no hope!--Bereft of
it, Mary again was tranquil; but it was a very different kind of
tranquillity. She stood to brave the approaching storm, conscious she
only could be overwhelmed by it.

She did not think of Henry, or if her thoughts glanced towards him, it
was only to find fault with herself for suffering a thought to have
strayed from Ann.--Ann!--this dear friend was soon torn from her--she
died suddenly as Mary was assisting her to walk across the room.--The
first string was severed from her heart--and this "slow, sudden-death"
disturbed her reasoning faculties; she seemed stunned by it; unable to
reflect, or even to feel her misery.

The body was stolen out of the house the second night, and Mary refused
to see her former companions. She desired her maid to conclude her
marriage, and request her intended husband to inform her when the first
merchantman was to leave the port, as the packet had just sailed, and
she determined not to stay in that hated place any longer than was