depressed her was the fear that his health might give way utterly.
"I can bear anything better than his death," she said to herself
a thousand times.

She made no tragic promises of constancy, nor did she indulge in
very much sentimental dreaming. She simply recognized the truth that
she loved him--that her whole woman's heart yearned in tenderness
over him as one that was crippled and helpless. She saw that he
was unable to stand alone and act for himself, and with a sensitive
pride all her own she shrank from even the thought of forcing
herself on the proud, rich family that had forbidden the alliance.
Moreover, she was a good-hearted, Christian girl, and perceived
clearly that it was no time for her to mope of droop. Even on the
miserable day which followed the interview that so sorely wounded
her, she made pathetic attempts to be cheerful and helpful, and as
time passed she rallied slowly into strength and patience.

The father's apparent efforts to keep up under his misfortune were
also a great incentive to earnest effort on her part. More than
once she said in substance to her mother, "Papa is so often hopeful,
serene, and even cheerful, that we ought to try and show a like
spirit. Even when despondency does master him, and he becomes sad
and irritable, he makes so brave an effort that he soon overcomes
his wretched mood and quietly looks on the brighter side. We ought
to follow his example." It would have been infinitely better had
he followed theirs, and found in prayer, faith, and manly courage
the serenity and fortitude that were but the brief, deceptive, and
dangerous effects of a fatal poison.

It was decided that the family should spend the summer at some quiet