r Mrs. Blake used to step up and tell me they
understood it all and believed in me, then for awhile I would shut my
eyes and rest, only to open them again to plead once more for
forgiveness; but to plead vainly. Then I would be on the point of leaving
Oaklands forever, and bidding good-bye to every one in the household save
Mr. Winthrop. He always turned away sternly and refused me his hand. I
was not conscious when it was day or night. It was all one perpetual
twilight. I would ask if the sun would never rise again, or the moon come
back with her soft shining; but no one heeded my questions. I resolved
to be so patient after this in answering people's questions when their
heads were full of pain, since I knew how sad it was to go on day after
day with these puzzling, wearying questions haunting one. Then there came
a long, quiet time of utter forgetfulness when I passed down into the
very valley of the shadow that Death casts over the nearly disembodied
spirit, and here I had rest.

When at last I opened my eyes to see the old, accustomed place and faces,
I was like a little child.

I lay quiet for some time wondering if it were possible for me to lift my
hand. It was night, for the lamp was burning, and some one was sitting
just within the shadow the lamp shade cast. I hoped it was Mrs. Blake,
and lay wondering how I could find out. I tried to lift my head, but
found the effort so wearying I went back into brief unconsciousness.
Presently my eyes opened again; but this time there was a face bending
over my bed, so that I had no need to muster my feeble forces to attract
their attention. I smiled up weakly into the face that in the dim light
I failed to recognize.

"Do you know me, dearie?" I was sure it was Mrs. Blake's voice sounding
strong and real.

"Is it Mrs. Blake?" I asked uncertainly.

"Yes, dearie, it jest is." Then I shut my eyes, so tired I could not even
think; but I heard a rustling sound, and a voice, that sounded a long way
off, murmur, "Thank God!" The voice sounded familiar, but I could not
recall whose it was. I tried to do so, but the effort wearied me. A spoon
was put to my lips, the milk that was given to me brought back the long
ago times--so long ago, I wondered if now I was an old woman; but after
brief reflection I knew this could not be, since Mrs. Blake was still
alive, and not much older in appearance than when I saw her last. To make
sure of the matter I determined to look at her agai