determinedly in opposition to his judgment. But minute after minute
passed after nightfall--hours succeeded minutes--and these rolled on
until the whole night wore away, and he came not back to me. As the
gray light of morning stole into my chamber, a terrible fear took
hold of me, that made my heart grow still in my bosom--the fear that
he would never return--that I had driven him off from me. Alas! this
fear was too nigh the truth. The whole of that day passed, and the
next and the next, without any tidings. No one had seen him since he
left me. An anxious excitement spread among all his friends. The
only account I could give of him, was, that he had parted from me in
good health, and in a sane mind.

"A week rolled by, and still no word came. I was nearly distracted.
What I suffered, no tongue can tell, no heart conceive. I have often
wondered that I did not become insane but from this sad condition I
was saved. Through all, my reason, though often trembling, did not
once forsake me. It was on the tenth day from that upon which we had
jarred so heavily as to be driven widely asunder, that a letter came
to me, post-marked New York, and endorsed 'In haste.' My hands
trembled so that I could with difficulty break the seal. The
contents were to the effect that my husband had been lying for
several days at one of the hotels there, very ill, but now past the
crisis of his disease, and thought by the physician to be out of
danger. The writer urged me, from my husband, to come on
immediately. In eight hours from the time I received that letter, I
was in New York. Alas! it was too late; the disease had returned
with double violence, and snapped the feeble thread of life. I never
saw my husband's living face again."

The self-possession of Mrs. Cleaveland, at this part of her