ion, Bobby
fell asleep. It was not yet dawn, even though far away in the east there
was a luminous veil that made the sky look like living silver. Behind
him among the trees there was a moving and a fluttering--the birds were
no longer asleep--they had not begun to sing but they were shaking out
their feathers and opening tiny, round eyes in farewell to departing
night.

That gentle fluttering was a sweet lullaby, and Bobby slept and
dreamed--he dreamed that the fluttering became louder and louder, and
that, instead of birds, it was a group of angels that shook their wings
and stood around him as he slept.

One of the angels came nearer and laid a hand upon his head--and Bobby
dreamed that the angel spoke and the words that it said filled Bobby's
heart with unearthly happiness.

"My love! my love!" the angel said, "will you try and live for my sake?"

And Bobby would not open his eyes, for fear the angel should go away.
And though he knew exactly where he was, and could feel the soft carpet
of leaves, and smell the sweet moisture in the air, he knew that he must
still be dreaming, for angels are not of this earth.

Then a strong kind hand touched his wrist, and felt the beating of his
heart, and a rough, pleasant voice said in English: "He is exhausted and
very weak, but the fever is not high: he will soon be all right." And to
add to the wonderful strangeness of his dream, the angel's voice near
him murmured: "Thank God! thank God!"

Why should an angel thank God that he--Bobby Clyffurde--was not likely
to die?

He opened his eyes to see what it all meant, and he saw--bending over
him--a face that was more exquisitely fair than any that man had ever
seen: eyes that were more blue than the sky above, lips that trembled
like rose-leaves in the breeze. He was still dreaming and there was a
haze between him and that perfect vision of loveliness. And the kind,
rough voice somewhere close by said: "Have you got that stretcher
ready?" and two other voices replied, "Yes, Sir."

But the lips close above him said nothing, and it was Bobby now who
murmured: "My love, is it you?"

"Your love for always," the dear lips replied, "nothing shall part us
now. Yours for always to bring you back to life. Yours when you will
claim me--yours for life."

They lifted him onto a stretcher, and then into a carriage and a very
kind face which he quickly enough recognised as Mme. la Duchesse
d'Agen's smiled very encouragingly upon h