regard to his early history. Trembling with excitement, she left the
house about eight o'clock in the evening, and started for the place
where she remembered that the tailor said he lived. He was in his
shop, and recollected her the moment she entered.

"Can I see the man you told me was named Fletcher?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am; and I sincerely hope there has been some mistake, and
that you will find him to be your husband; for he is very ill, and
needs to be nursed by a careful hand."

Mrs. Fletcher followed the tailor up stairs, her heart scarcely
beating under the pressure of suspense. In a small chamber in the
third story, the atmosphere of which was close, oppressive, and
filled with an offensive odour, she was shown a man lying upon a
bed. She needed not a second glance, as the dim light fell upon his
pale, emaciated face, to decide her doubts. Her husband lay before
her. Eagerly she called his name, but his eyes did not open. She
spoke to him again and again, but he did not recognise, even if he
heard her voice.

On inquiring, she found that he was ill with a violent fever, which
the doctor said was about at its crisis. This had been brought on by
too long continued labour--he having worked, often, sixteen and
seventeen hours out of the twenty-four--by that means earning a
third more wages than any journeyman in the shop.

Alarmed and troubled as she was, Mrs. Fletcher was utterly
confounded by all this. She could not comprehend it. All night she
hovered over the pillow of her husband, giving him medicine at the