ever behold him thus.  The utmost secrecy was observed by all parties; and it was decided that we would remain for the night with Mr. Worthing, and, accompanied by Arthur, set out early the next morning on our homeward journey.  But it was ordered otherwise.  The next morning Arthur was raving in delirium of brain fever, brought, on doubtless, by the mental torture he had endured.  Mr. Sinclair dispatched a message, informing his wife of Arthur’s illness, and three days later she stood by the bed-side of her son.  For several days the fever raged.  We allowed no stranger to watch by him, for in his delirium his mind dwelt continually upon the past, and no one but ourselves must listen to his words.  Mr. Worthing was very kind, and shared the care of the poor young man with his parents and myself.  At length came the crisis of his disorder.  “Now,” said the physician, “for a few hours, his life will hang, as it were, upon a thread.  If the powers of life of are not too far exhausted by the disease he may rally but I have many fears, for he is brought very low.  All the encouragement I dare offer that is, while there is life there is hope.”

He sunk into a deep slumber, and I took my place to watch by him during the night.  Mr. Worthing persuaded his parents to seek a few hours rest, as they were worn out with fatigue and anxiety; and exacting from me a promise that I would summon them if the least change for the worse should take place, they retired, and I was left to watch alone by my friend.  All I could do was to watch and wait, as the hours passed wearily on.  A little before midnight the physician softly entered, and stood with me at his bed-side; soon after he languidly opened his eyes, and in a whisper he pronounced my name.  As I leaned over him, and eagerly scanned his countenance, I perceived that the delirium of fever was gone.  The physician, fearing the effect upon him of the least excitement, made a motion to me enjoining silence, and mixing a quieting cordial, held to his lips.  He eagerly quaffed the cooling draught, and again fell into a quiet slumber.  “Now,” said the physician, “I have a faint hope that he may recover, but he is so weak that any excitement would prove fatal; all depends upon keeping him perfectly quiet for the next few hours.”  The doctor departed, and again I was left alone to watch over his slumber.  Before morning, anxiety brought Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair to the room, to learn if there had been any change.  In a whisper I informed them of the favorable symptoms he had evinced upon waking, and persuaded them to retire from the apartment.  When Arthur again awoke, the favorable symptoms still continued, and the physician entertained strong hopes of his recovery.  By degrees he was allowed to converse for a few moments at a time.  It seemed to him, he said, as though he had awakened from a frightful dream; and he begged to know how long he had been ill, and what had happened during the time.  We were all very cautious to