have rendered me," said I, determined to be calm, for I knew by the tone of her voice she wanted to provoke me.
"Well," resumed she, "have you not observed this salutary change in Mr. Huntingdon? Don't you see what a sober, temperate man he is become? You saw with regret the sad habits he was contracting, I know; and I know you did your utmost to deliver him from them,—but without success, until I came to your assistance. I told him, in few words, that I could not bear to see him degrade himself so, and that I should cease to—no matter what I told him,—but you see the reformation I have wrought; and you ought to thank me for it."
I rose, and rang for the nurse.
"But I desire no thanks," she continued, "all the return I ask is, that you will take care of him when I am gone, and not, by harshness and neglect, drive him back to his old courses."
