CHAPTER XXIII.

CONVALESCENCE.


VERY slowly did Emily recover, for the blow had been more than she could
bear: nothing but religion gave her any chance at all: and the phials,
blisterings, bleedings, would have been in vain, in vain--she must have
died long ago--had it not been for the remembrance of God's love,
resignation to His will, and trust in the wisdom of his Providence. But
these specific remedies gradually brought her round, while the kind-eyed
doctors praised their own prescriptions: and after many rallyings and
relapses, delirious ramblings, and intervals of hallowed Christian
peace, the eye of Love's meek martyr brightened up once more, and health
flushed again upon her cheek.

She recovered, God be praised! for her death would have been poor
Charles's too; and the same grave that yawned for her and him would have
closed upon their father also. Even as it was, when she arose from off
the weary bed of sickness, it was to be a nurse herself, and watch
beside that patient, weak old man. He could not bear her out of his
sight all the fever through; but eagerly would listen to her hymns and
prayers, joining in them faintly like a dying saint. With the saddening
secret, which had so long pressed upon his mind, he seemed to have
thrown off his old nature, as a cast skin: and now he was all frankness
for reserve, all piety for profaneness, all peacefulness for blusterings
and wrath.