saw my mistake; how entirely it had been a
fancy, when I loved this noble gentleman;
this true-hearted man, whose honest affection
I had scorned in my blind infatuation. It
was too late now: I felt it each moment of
my present life. From the hour in which
I had shown myself in my heartless, un-womanly
character, he had ceased to care for
me. He had, with his masterly, energetic
mind, crushed the feeling whose object was
unworthy, and had entirely succeeded. O, I
was properly punished! I could not see an
act of his now, nor hear him speak, without
being reminded of the value of the heart I
had thrown away. My only solace was in
endeavouring to add to his comfort; and my
only resource in avoiding his presence as
much as possible. Our clothes, of so limited
a stock, were continually in need of repair,
and it was full employment for me to make
small holes along the edges of the rents and
draw them together with tough grass: sometimes
with a thread composed of a dozen or
two of my own hairs.

I ought to mention, that shortly after the
departure of the seamen in the boat, two of
their bodies were thrown upon the beach:
they were dressed as they had left us, and
hence we took advantage of their clothes.
Mr. Loring and Mr. Hart buried them in the
sand, and the latter repeated from memory
some of the funeral service.

But the lovely weather upon which I had
congratulated myself, began to change; and
with the change of weather, Mr. Hart became
ill with a species of low fever.  It may seem
strange,—it did so to me at the time,—
during all the years of comparative happiness
which I had spent—they seemed years
of bliss to me now, looking back upon them—
I had never given a serious thought to anything
beyond the passing hour; or if
sometimes my heart would ask the question
which ought to interest us most, I had ready
means of avoiding an answer by diverting
it. But I could not do so here. Everything
seemed forced home upon me, whether I
would or not: there was no passing excitement
to fly to; and I, who had my life
through turned a deaf ear when churches
were open and the Book of God unclasped,
was, when deprived of all these things—
now vainly longed for—compelled to listen.

Mr. Loring's time was a good deal occupied
in attending to Mr. Hart, who soon
became too weak to rise from his bed, so that I
was very much alone; but when we saw each
other at all, Mr. Loring's manner was more
kind to me than it had been since we landed.
As I was returning one morning from a little
creek, whither I went daily to bathe, I found
Mr. Loring occupied in cutting a door-way
directly into my sleeping-room. I asked him
what he was doing; and, before answering
my question, he rose, and taking my hand, led
me out of hearing distance of the hut, and
then said:—

"I am afraid, very much afraid, that
Hart's fever may be infectious: at least, I
will not have you run any risk until we
know. You must not any more pass through
his room."

"But," said I, " he must be taken care of."

"Cannot I," he asked, "continue to take
care of him?"

"But if it is infectious," said I, carried
away by my terror into betrayal, "if it is
infectious, as you think, you may become ill:
what should I do? O Mr. Loring, let me
wait on him! let me at least share the risk.
If you should die—"

A strange light came into his dear eyes as
I spoke, and he still held my hand, and
hesitated; then, all at once dropping my hand,
he answered, sadly:—

"Of course: it is natural enough; but
never fear, poor child! He will not leave you
without a protector."

That he should think me so utterly selfish!

"I did not intend that: you mistake me,"
I cornmenced, but I was unable to continue;
and, sitting down upon a heap of dried grass
near our house, I buried my face in my
hands.

He walked up and down several times;
then stopping in front of me, he said:—

"It seems very sad that your brightest
days of youth should be wasted in such a
place as this; but rest assured, though we
cannot see it, that it is so for some purpose
which will result in good hereafter. It cannot
continue: some help will come before
long. I am convinced of it."

How little he knew! I would sooner have
remained cut off from all comfort and society
on this almost barren island, only with him,
than return to England, under happiest circumstances,
without him. But I could not
say it, and he went into the hut, in answer to
a call from Mr. Hart, and left me.

I felt frenzied on the subject of this fever.
I would not disobey Mr. Loring, and pass
through the room; but I kept as close as I
could to it, that we might at least run more
equal risks, during the time of uncertainty,
After a few days, he told me that he had been
mistaken, and that I might resume my attention
to Mr. Hart. He was safe, then; and, in
my first transport of delight, I fell on my
knees before him, and seized his hands. The
same look passed over his face, that I had
observed on the former occasion; but he only
said:—

"You are content, then, to put up with
my society a little longer?" Then, more
gravely: " I am afraid, before long, I shall be
your only companion: Hart is dying."

I had, of course, a certain amount of regard
for Mr. Hart, as was inevitable under our
circumstances, and I was shocked and grieved
at the news; but it did not affect me so violently:
it moved Mr. Loring. He shook with
emotion: I had never seen him so agitated
before: and again he stretched out his hands