head on the child's pillow, and borne on those waves of dreamy
sound, she, too, passed through the white gates, and slept.

They slept so all through that night. Mrs. Grahame and Auntie, coming to
relieve Hildegarde, could not bear to wake her. The doctor put his head
in at the door, gazed for a moment, and then nodded, and tiptoed off
down-stairs and home to bed, wiping his eyes as he went. The Colonel and
Jack, making their last call for the night, heard the joyful report, and
departed treading on air. And still they slept. The black woman nodded
in her chair in the corner; she had put Mrs. Grahame to bed, and
returned to watch the night with her charge, all the more precious now
that her "own chile" was sleeping beside him. Now and then a coal fell,
and tinkled in the fireplace; the night-light burned steadily, but the
fire flared, and drooped, and leaped up again, filling the quiet room
with flitting lights and shadows. Were they spirits, bending over those
two fair heads on the pillow, side by side? The angels might be glad to
come a good way to see such a sight as that, Auntie said to herself. And
she nodded, and dreamed of the Golden City, and woke again to see always
the same quiet room, to hear always the same sweet breathing of peace
and rest and returning health.

It was morning when Hildegarde awoke; dim, early morning, with the stars
still shining, but with a faint, pearly radiance growing momently
stronger in the east. She wondered at first what was the matter, and why
she was sitting up in bed, rather stiff, with soft things wrapped round
her. Before she moved her eyes fell on the little face beside her, and
she remembered all, and gave thanks to God for his mercy before she
stirred. Raising herself softly, she saw Auntie sitting in her great
chair, bolt upright, but sound asleep.

"Poor dear!" thought the girl. "She need not have come at all. We did
not need anything, Hugh and I. We have had a good, good rest."

Beyond changing her position, and stretching her limbs, cramped by
staying so long in one posture, she did not move, but sat with folded
hands, full of such happy thoughts that the morning seemed to come on
wings of gold.

The sun was up before Auntie woke, and her frightened exclamation, "Fo'
gracious goodness! ef I ain't be'n 'sleep myself!" though hardly spoken
above a whisper, echoed sharply through the silent room.

Hugh opened his eyes, and his glance fell directly on Hildegarde. He