Gertrude, and bore back a message from 'my heart to her's' in return.
This was no mean consolation, more especially when each letter spoke of
increasing health and strength. At the month's end, I was preparing to
return--my mother was slowly recovering, and I no longer had any fears on
her account; but, there are links in our destiny fearfully interwoven
with each other, and ending only in the anguish of our ultimate doom. The
day before that fixed for my departure, I had been into a house where an
epidemic disease raged; that night I complained of oppressive and deadly
illness--before morning I was in a high fever.

"During the time I was sensible of my state, I wrote constantly to
Gertrude, and carefully concealed my illness; but for several days I was
delirious. When I recovered I called eagerly for my letters--there were
none--none! I could not believe I was yet awake; but days still passed
on, and not a line from England--from Gertrude. The instant I was able, I
insisted upon putting horses to my carriage; I could bear no longer the
torture of my suspense. By the most rapid journeys my debility would
allow me to bear, I arrived in England. I travelled down to--by the same
road that I had gone over with her; the words of her foreboding, at that
time, sunk like ice into my heart, 'You will travel this road again
before many months are past, and I shall not be with you: perhaps, I
shall not be upon the earth.' At that thought I could have called unto
the grave to open for me. Her unaccountable and lengthened silence, in
spite of all the urgency and entreaties of my letters for a reply, filled
me with presentiments the most fearful. Oh, God--oh, God, they were
nothing to the truth!

"At last I arrived at--; my carriage stopped at the very house--my whole
frame was perfectly frozen with dread--I trembled from limb to limb--the
ice of a thousand winters seemed curdling through my blood. The bell