On the faith of her repeated assertions, that she felt a great deal better and would be quite well in the morning, we slept, my mother and myself, leaving the lamp dimly burning by the solemn hour-glass.
About midnight we were awakened by the wild ravings of delirious agony,--those sounds so fearful in themselves, so awful in the silence and darkness of night, so indescribably awful in the solitude of our lonely dwelling.
Peggy had struggled with disease like "the strong man prepared to run a race," but it had now seized her with giant grasp, and she lay helpless and writhing, with the fiery fluid burning in her veins, sending dark, red flashes to her cheeks and brow.

Her eyes had a fierce, lurid glare, and she tossed her head from side to side on the pillow with the wild restlessness of an imprisoned animal.
"Good God!" cried my mother, looking as white as the sheets, and trembling all over as in an ague-fit.

"What shall we do?
She will die unless a doctor can see her.

Oh, my child, what can we do?
It is dreadful to be alone in the woods, when sickness and death are in the house." "_I_ will go for the doctor, mother, if you are not afraid to stay alone with Peggy," cried I, in hurried accents, wrapping a shawl round me as I spoke.
My mother wrung her hands.
"Oh! this is terrible," she exclaimed.

"How dim and dark it looks abroad.