SUSAN HARVEY. CHAPTER I. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom. The night is dark, and I am far from home; Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see Lyra Apostolica. Twas late one evening in the autumn when Susan Harvey caught the first glimpse of the lights in the village, as they glistened through the trees from the opposite side of the valley. Weak and exhausted, she feared that, though she was so near her home, the little strength she had left would be scarcely sufficient to enable her to reach it. The wind blew directly against her, and rendered her walking still more painful than it would otherwise have been, by exciting her cough. Still, step by step, she crawled along, and reached at length the little gate, and then the door; but before she raised the latch, she paused to recover her breath, which had been growing more and more painful to her as the wind became colder, till it was with great difficulty she could draw it at all. When she opened the door, her father, who was sitting by the fire, turned his head, and was much surprised to see poor Susan. He was a man of a harsh, severe character; and Susan, as she met his eye, shrunk before it as she had been used to do. "Susan, child," he said, in a kinder tone than ordinary, for he was shocked at her appearance, is it you? what brings you here at this time of night?" Susan could not answer: the sound of his voice brought back to her such painful recollections, that, sinking into the chair that was close to her, she gave vent to her feelings. A violent hysterical affection followed, and she became insensible, and it was long before she recovered. When she came to herself, she was in bed, Martha was standing by her. the walk had been far too great an exertion to her, and she was now very feverish, and her throat and chest were very sore and painful. Uncomfortable as her home had and her sister Poor child! always been to her, it was with a feeling of pleasure that, when she opened her eyes, she saw her sister near her, and the thought came over her, that she was not with strangers. "Well, Susey, how are you now? and what has been the matter with you?" said Martha. Susan was scarcely able to speak, her throat was so dry and her mouth so parched; but she tried to say, “I hope I shall be better soon, but I have been very ill indeed." "Here's a cup of tea for you, child: drink that-'twill moisten your mouth.” Susan was much refreshed when she had drunk it, and better able to answer her sister's questions. "I have been ill almost ever since I went away; for I caught cold the first week I was at Mr. Foster's, and I have had a cough ever since; but last week, whilst I was trying to carry two buckets of water up the hill from the spring, I found my mouth all at once full of blood; and then a great deal more came, and I was not able to get back, till a woman, who was coming up the hill, helped me; and then she went back and fetched the buckets. Mrs. Foster put me to bed, and gave me some tea; but I was very bad all night with the bleeding, and I thought that perhaps I should not live till |