small matters can stir the affections so profoundly at a time of life when
great troubles seldom approach us.

When at length the opportunity did come, never was such a hug out of the
wrestling ring as poor Milly bestowed on me, swaying me this way and that,
and burying her face in my dress, and blubbering--

'I was so lonely before you came, and you so good to me, and I such a
devil; and I'll never call you a name, but Maud--my darling Maud.'

'You must, Milly--Mrs. Bustle. I'll be Mrs. Bustle, or anything you like.
You must.' I was blubbering like Milly, and hugging my best; and, indeed, I
wonder how we kept our feet.

So Milly and I were better friends than ever.

Meanwhile, the winter deepened, and we had short days and long nights,
and long fireside gossipings at Bartram-Haugh. I was frightened at the
frequency of the strange collapses to which Uncle Silas was subject. I
did not at first mind them much, for I naturally fell into Milly's way of
talking about them.

But one day, while in one of his 'queerish' states, he called for me, and I
saw him, and was unspeakably scared.

In a white wrapper, he lay coiled in a great easy chair. I should have
thought him dead, had I not been accompanied by old L'Amour, who knew every
gradation and symptom of these strange affections.

She winked and nodded to me with a ghastly significance, and whispered--