think. No one came nigh me; not a sound from the
house below entered my ears. Not once did I feel weary--only desolate,
drearily desolate.

I passed a second sleepless night. In the morning I went for the last
time to the chamber in the roof, and for the last time sought an open
door: there was none. My heart died within me. I had lost my Lona!

Was she anywhere? had she ever been, save in the mouldering cells of
my brain? "I must die one day," I thought, "and then, straight from my
death-bed, I will set out to find her! If she is not, I will go to
the Father and say--'Even thou canst not help me: let me cease, I pray
thee!'"

CHAPTER XLIV. THE WAKING

The fourth night I seemed to fall asleep, and that night woke indeed. I
opened my eyes and knew, although all was dark around me, that I lay in
the house of death, and that every moment since there I fell asleep
I had been dreaming, and now first was awake. "At last!" I said to my
heart, and it leaped for joy. I turned my eyes; Lona stood by my couch,
waiting for me! I had never lost her!--only for a little time lost the
sight of her! Truly I needed not have lamented her so sorely!

It was dark, as I say, but I saw her: SHE was not dark! Her eyes shone
with the radiance of the Mother's, and the same light issued from her
face--nor from her face only, for her death-dress, filled with the light
of her body now tenfold awake in the power of its resurrection, was
white as snow and glistering. She fell asleep a girl; she awoke a woman,
ripe with the loveliness of the life essential. I folded her in my arms,
and knew that I lived indeed.

"I woke first!" she said, with a wondering smile.

"You did, my love, and woke me!"

"I only looked at you and waited," she answered.

The candle came floating toward us through the dark, and in a few
moments Adam and Eve and Mara were with us. They greeted us with a quiet
good-morning and a smile: they were used to such wakings!

"I hope you have had a pleasant darkness!" said the Mother.

"Not very," I answered, "but the waking from it is heavenly."

"It is but begun," she rejoined; "you are hardly yet awake!"

"He is at least clothed-upon with Death, which is the radiant garment of
Life," said Adam.

He embraced Lona his child, put an arm around me, looked a moment or two
inquiringly at the princess, and patted the head of the leopardess.

"I think we shall meet you two again before long," he said, looking
first at L