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Various

"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 11, No. 64, February, 1863"

What if I should find him out and betray him? The
anxiety occasioned by this possibility made her hate me. The agony
of her little one's departure, the fear of some dire discovery, the
consciousness of guilt near enough of vicinage almost to seem her
own, combined to nearly distract her mind, and it seemed like a joyful
relief when I departed. The sudden release from that constant pressure
of fear (she knew I could do nothing against them without money,
credit, or friends) made her ill for a time, quite ill, she said. She
knew not what was done for her during this sickness,--who nursed her,
or who gave her medicine. But one morning, on waking from what seemed
a long sleep, in which she had dreamed strangely and talked wildly,
she beheld Monsieur, smiling kindly, standing beside her bed with a
vial and a spoon in his hand.
"It is a cordial, my dear, which will strengthen and bring you round
again very soon. You need a sedative,--something to allay fever and
excitement."
"Is it little Jacques's medicine?"
"Quite similar, my dear,--not the powders,--the liquid. Equally
soothing to the nerves, and promotive of sleep."
She turned her face away.


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