"She's not worse, I hope?" he inquired, hastily.
"I think her better: she is disposed to converse—she seems stronger."
"Good!" said he, brushing quickly into the room. "Ha, Cary! how do? Did you drink my cup of tea? I made it for you just as I like it myself."
"I drank it every drop, uncle: it did me good—it has made me quite alive. I have a wish for company, so I begged Mrs. Pryor to call you in."
The respected ecclesiastic looked pleased, and yet embarrassed. He was willing enough to bestow his company on his sick niece for ten minutes, since it was her whim to wish it; but what means to employ for her entertainment, he knew not: he hemmed—he fidgeted."
"You'll be up in a trice," he observed, by way of saying something. "The little weakness will soon pass off; and then you must drink port-wine—a pipe, if you can—and eat game and oysters: I'll get them for you, if they are to be had anywhere. Bless me! we'll make you as strong as Samson before we've done with you."
"Who is that lady, uncle, standing beside you at the bed-foot?"
"Good God!" he ejaculated. "She's not wandering—is she, ma'am?"
Mrs. Pryor smiled.
"I am wandering in a pleasant world," said Caroline, in a soft, happy voice, "and I want you to tell
