she crept wearily closer and closer
into his arms, like a tired-out child who has reached home.

And when Herbert stooped over her gently, he saw that the long lashes
lay on her cheek. Magdalene had fallen asleep.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

MOTES IN THE SUNSHINE.

That sleep was, humanly speaking, Magdalene's salvation.

At the greatest crisis of her life, when reason hung in the
balance,--when the sudden influx of joy might have paralyzed the
overwrought heart and brain,--at that moment physical exhaustion saved
her by that merciful, overpowering sleep.

When she woke, it was to the resurrection of her life and love. Months
afterwards she spoke of that waking to Phillis, when she lay in her
bed weak as a new born babe, and the early morning light streamed full
on the face of her slumbering husband.

They were alone; for Miss Mewlstone had just crept softly from the
room. Her movement had roused Magdalene. Herbert, who was utterly worn
out by his long watching, had just dropped asleep, with his head
resting against the wood-work. He was still sitting in the arm-chair
beside her, and only the thin profile was visible.

The previous night had been passed by Magdalene in a semi-conscious
state: delirious imaginations had blended with realities. There were
flashes and intervals of comparative consciousness, when the truth
rushed into her mind; but she had been too weak to retain it long.
That she was dreaming or dead was her fixed idea: that this was her
husband's greeting to her in paradise seemed to be her one thought.
"Strange that the children do not kiss me too," they heard her say
once.

But now, as she opened her eyes, there was no blue misty haze through
which she ever feebly sought to pierce. She was lying in her own room,
where she had passed so many despairing days and nights. The window
was open; the sweet crisp morning air fanned her temples; the birds
were singing in the garden below; and there beside her was the face so
like, yet so unlike, the face from which she had parted four years
ago.

For a little while she lay and watched it in a sort of trance; and
then in the stillness full realization came to her, and she knew that
she was not mad or dreaming. This was no imagination: it was reality.

With incredible effort, for she felt strangely weak, she raised
herself on her elbow to study that dear face more closely, for the
change in it baffled her. Could this be her Herbert? How bronzed and
thin