Year: 1875

o'IO uoS0oi lShSCuCHCu Will ~. LIE
pulse sunk until only the feeblest vi.
bration marked the beating of the
heart that used to thump so stoutly
against the broad breast Of the young
man. There seemed, indeed, little
work for Johns heart to do, so blood
less had the poor fellow became. He
lay there like vampires victim,
helplessly and hopelessly feeling the
vital fluid ebb from his veins day by
day.


The TRANSMISSION of lambs blood
from healthy and living specimen
of that animal, into the veins of a
patient suffering from aniemia, OF
from such q decline of vitality and
circulation as in Johns case, was a
much less common operation a few
years ago than it is now. 1t was
undertaken the very day on which
Mamie, finally succumbing to fatigue
and anxiety, was sent to bed with a
slow fever, having very much the
same symptoms that preceded Johns
attack. 1t was nothing much, after
all; but it kept her away from John,
and allowed her to know of the
operation only by messages brought
twice daily from the sickroom of her
lover.


The lamb was chosen from John $
own stock, brought into town, and
established in the carriage-house, un-
der treatment for repose and quiet;
and on the afternoon of the day
when Mamie fell sick, the Cotswold
was brought into the chamber by the
awe-struck shepherd. The creature
had suffered much at the hands of
DR.. Broughton and his associate, in
the way of having its veins tied up to
limit the circulation to the jugular,
and it needed only the last painless
incision Of the lancet, as cup was
quickly inverted over the orfice, and
the blood came putting out.


Slowly through the cup, through
the glass, where it showed II strange
red, through the flexible tube in the
doctors hands, and through the
needle like duct, flowed the stream of
life from Johns lamb to Johns
heart.


1t was over in few minutes, and
the patient after some queer pains in
his back and temporary shortness of
breath, went off into quiet sleep,
and awoke refreshed. 1t was sue
cess. The forlorn hope had succeed
ed. DR.. Broughton was self-satisficd
and congratulatory. Uncle Stuart
fairly owned up that Johns expert
ments in breeding had at last proved
of some practical benefit, since he
had produced animals of as good
blood rs his own.


So we all thought, as John grew
daily stronger; and Mamie Oh her
sick-bed clasped her hands and
thanked God in as pure a prayer as
ever maiden mingled with tears.


The one strange thing was that
John seemed as thin in the face rs
ever. Another strange thing, though
not such a very unusual result of this
sickness, was that the fever, loath to
leave it's victim without some souven-
ir Of its visitation, had struck malev-
olently at the cords of the throat,
whose fine baritone notes used to
blend so pleasantly with the tender
soprano of Mamie's, and left his
voice rancous and harsh. 1t was as
if the east wind had crept in and
found Il lodgment there; and although
the doctor gave hope that this change
in timbre was only temporary, it must
be said that John was not pleasant as
a speaker in those days. Rasping
and strident, his tones, though weak,
were like anything but the breathings
of love.


AS the day approached when by
the doctors autocratic decision,
Mamie would be permitted to ride
around to Johns house and again
see her lover, we all felt rather cha
grlned that the best we could show
her was such a cadaverous specimen
of convalescense. Not so with
Mamie. She was such a quivering
piece of femininity all the morning
that uncle had to threaten her with
bed and quinine to bring her to
semblance of control.


''The dear, dear fellow" with tears
in her eyes. "Frank" petulantly),
''your watch is slow; so is the parlor
clock. The carriage ought to have
been here long ago. Father" wink
ing very hard to hide something tell
tale on her lashes, 81 think l am
strong enough to walk"


AT last we were there. The door
had closed softly behind us, and
John was seen bolstered up in bed,
with pillows behind him and at each
side, the chair in which Mamie had
watched so many long hours placed
closely to his bed, her portrait hang
ing where his eyes might find it in
whatever position he placed himself,
and one Of her handkerchief, which
she had left in the days of her nurs-
ing, in reach of his hand.


1t was the most foolish thing in
the world for John to have his
mustache cut off. But he said it
kept his medicine under his nose all
day, and off the offending ornament
came. His hair, too, had not grown
again from the clipping it had re-
ceived when the fever heated his
brain so that every curl was an intol-
cradle weight; and, in fact, it was a
far from attractive lover to whom we
brought Mamie.


Still, the alteration that shone out
Of his cavernous eyes as we entered
the door made him almost handsome.
Mamie flushed up as we stepped over
the threshold.


"Now, don't tear him to pieces in
your affection; he's tender yet" said
|, somewhat cynically, anticipating a
violent demonstration of rapture.


But there was no need of caution.
AS Mamic's eyes rested on Johns
face I felt slight recoil in her move
ment. The flush upon her features
died out, giving place to a pallor that
was startling. Her hand trembled
upon my arm. She was staring
strangely at the sick man, and her
lips began to twist and her breath to
come fast.