It was the
will of Providence that Mary should experience almost every species of sorrow.
Her father was thrown from his horse, when his blood was in a very inflammatory
state, and the bruises were very dangerous; his recovery was not expected by
the physical tribe.
Terrified at
seeing him so near death, and yet so ill prepared for it, his daughter sat by
his bed, oppressed by the keenest anguish, which her piety increased.
Her grief
had nothing selfish in it; he was not a friend or protector; but he was her
father, an unhappy wretch, going into eternity, depraved and thoughtless. Could a life of sensuality be a preparation for a
peaceful death? Thus meditating, she passed the still midnight hour by his
bedside.
The nurse fell asleep, nor did a violent thunder storm interrupt her
repose, though it made the night appear still more terrific to Mary. Her
father's unequal breathing alarmed her, when she heard a long drawn breath, she
feared it was his last, and watching for another, a dreadful peal of thunder
struck her ears. Considering the separation of the soul and
body, this night seemed sadly solemn, and the hours long.
Death is
indeed a king of terrors when he attacks the vicious man! The compassionate
heart finds not any comfort; but dreads an eternal separation. No transporting
greetings are anticipated, when the survivors also shall have finished their their course; but all is
black!—the grave may truly be said to receive the departed—this is the sting of
death!
Night after
night Mary watched, and this excessive fatigue impaired her own health, but had
a worse effect on Ann; though she constantly went to bed, she could not rest; a
number of uneasy thoughts obtruded themselves; and apprehensions about Mary,
whom she loved as well as her exhausted heart could love, harassed her mind.
After a sleepless, feverish night she had a violent fit of coughing, and burst
a blood-vessel. The physician, who was in the house, was sent for, and when he
left the patient, Mary, with an authoritative voice, insisted on knowing his
real opinion. Reluctantly he gave it, that her friend was in a critical state;
and if she passed the approaching winter in England, he imagined
she would die in the spring; a season fatal to consumptive disorders. The
spring!—Her husband was then expected.—Gracious Heaven, could she bear all
this.
In a few
days her father breathed his last. The horrid sensations his death occasioned
were too poignant to be durable: and Ann's danger, and her own situation, made
Mary deliberate what mode of conduct she should pursue. She feared this event
might hasten the return of her husband, and prevent her putting into execution
a plan she had determined on. It was to accompany Ann to a more salubrious
climate.