It was astonishing how my mother sustained herself during these days and nights of intense anxiety.

She seemed unconscious of fatigue, passive, enduring as the marble statue she resembled.

She ate nothing,--she did not sleep.
I know not what supported her.

Dr.Harlowe brought her some of that generous wine which had infused such life into my young veins, and forced her to swallow it, but it never brought any color to her hueless cheeks.
On the morning of the ninth day, Peggy sunk into a deathlike stupor.

Her mind had wandered during all her sickness, though most of the time she lay in a deep lethargy, from which nothing could rouse her.
"Go down to the spring and breathe the fresh air," said the doctor; "there should be perfect quiet here,--a few hours will decide her fate." I went down to the spring, where the twilight shades were gathering.