, just as she descended the slope of a steep hill, she saw the
twinkling lights of the village and the feeble rays shot new courage
into her heart. Under this accession of power she pushed forward and
made her way toward the old Quaker homestead.

The night had now deepened around her; but every foot of the landscape
had been indelibly impressed upon her memory, and even in the gathering
gloom she chose the road unerringly. There were only a few steps more,
and reeling toward the door yard fence she felt her way to the gate,
opened it, staggered forward up the path in the rays of light that
struggled out into the darkness, and with one final effort fell fainting
upon the threshold.

The scene within the house presented a striking contrast to that
without. In a great open fireplace the flames of the beech logs were
wavering up the chimney. Seated in the radiance of their light, on a low
stool, was a young boy with his elbows upon his knees and his cheeks in
the palms of his hands. His mother sat by his side stroking his hair and
gazing at him in fond, brooding love. The father was bending over a
Bible lying open on the table; it was the hour of prayer. He was reading
a lesson from the twenty-fifth chapter of St. Matthew, and had just
articulated in slow and reverent tones the words of Jesus, "I was a
stranger and ye took me in," when they heard a sound at the door.

Father, mother and son sprang to their feet and, hurrying towards the
door, flung it open and beheld a woman's limp form lying on the
threshold.

It was but a child's weight to the stalwart Quaker who picked it up in
his great arms and carried it into the radiance of the great fireplace,
and in an instant he and Dorothea his wife were pushing forward the work
of restoration. They forced a cordial between the parted lips, chafed
the white hands, warmed the half-frozen feet, and in a few moments were
rewarded by discovering feeble signs of life. The color came back in a
faint glow to the marble face, the pulses fluttered feebly, the bosom
heaved gently, as if the refluent tide of life had surged reluctantly
back, and the tired heart began once more to beat. She had regained her
life but not her consciousness, and lay there as white and almost as
still as death. The little boy stood gazing wonderingly at her from a
distance. The calm features of the Quaker were agitated with emotion.
His wife knelt by the side of the pale sleeper, and her tears dropped
silen