pretty they were
in their flannel nightgowns! And Tommy kissed her, and gave her--ah
me!--one more kiss for papa. And in two minutes they were asleep. It
would have been better if they could have kept awake one minute longer.
Now she was really alone. And very soon seven o'clock has come. She does
not dare leave the clock-work at the outer lantern a minute longer. Tom
and Mipples wind the works every four hours, and now they have run five.
One more look at her darlings. Shall she ever see them again in this
world? Now to the duty next her hand!

Yes, the wind is as fierce as ever! A point more to the north, Laura
notices. She has no child to carry now. She tumbles once in the drift.
But Laura has rolled in snow before. The pile at the door is three feet
thick. But she works down to the latch,--and even her poor numb hand
conquers it,--and it gives way. How nice and warm the tower is! and how
well the lights burn! Can they be of any use this night to anybody? O my
God, grant that they be of use to him!

She has wound them now. She has floundered into the snow again. Two or
three falls on her way home,--but no danger that she loses the line of
march. The light above her own house is before her. So she has only to
aim at that. Home again! And now to wait for five hours,--and then to
wind that light again--at midnight!

"And at midnight there was a cry made"--"oh dear!--if he would come,--I
would not ask for any cry!"--

* * * * *

And Laura got down her choice inlaid box, that Jem brought her from
sea,--and which held her treasures of treasures. And the dear girl did
the best thing she could have done. She took these treasures out.--You
know what they were, do not you? They were every letter Tom Cutts ever
wrote her--from the first boy note in print,--"Laura,--these hedgehog
quills are for you. I killed him. TOM." And Laura opened them all,--and
read them one by one, each twice,--and put them back, in their order,
without folding, into the box. At ten she stopped,--and worked her way
upstairs into her own lantern,--and wound its works again. She tried to
persuade herself that there was less wind,--did persuade herself so. But
the snow was as steady as ever. Down the tower-stairs again,--and then a
few blessed minutes brooding over Matty's crib, and dear little Tom who
has kicked himself right athwart her own bed where she had laid him.
Darlings! they are so lovely, their father must com