The stitch in Mary's side caught her again, as she went up stairs,
and almost took her breath away; and it was some time after she
resumed her work, before she could bear her body up straight on the
left side.

In her damp feet and skirts, on a chilly and rainy October day, Mary
Carson sat working until nearly three o'clock, without rest or
refreshment of any kind; and when at last called to dinner, the
disordered condition of the table, and the cold, unpalatable food
set before her, extinguished, instead of stimulating her sickly
appetite. She made a feint of eating, to avoid attracting attention,
and then returned to the sewing-room, the air of which, as she
re-entered, seemed colder than that of the hall and dining-room.

The stitch in her side was not so bad during the afternoon; but the
dull pain was heavier, and accompanied by a sickening sensation.
Still, she worked on, cutting, fitting and sewing with a patience
and industry, that, considering her actual condition, was
surprising. Mrs. Lowe was in and out of the room frequently,
overlooking the work, and marking its progress. Beyond the producing
power of her seamstress, she had no thought of that individual. It
did not come within the range of her questionings whether she were
well or ill--weak or strong--exhausted by prolonged labor, or in
the full possession of bodily vigor. To her, she was simply an agent
through which a certain service was obtained; and beyond that
service, she was nothing. The extent of her consideration was
limited by the progressive creation of dresses for her children. As
that went on, her thought dwelt with Miss Carson; but penetrated no
deeper. She might be human; might have an individual life full of