l. It was very strange, the thoughts I had, lying there
so far within the border land; as if the faculties of mind and soul had
nearly slipped the fleshly leash, and independently of their environment,
boldly held counsel, and speculated on the possibilities of their
immediate future.

But gradually the wheels of life began to turn more strongly. When next
I opened my eyes the daylight was softly penetrating the closely drawn
curtains. Mrs. Flaxman was standing near, looking worn and pale; but Mrs.
Blake was also there, and loomed up before me, strong as ever--a look
into her kindly face was like a tonic. When she saw me watching her she
turned around, and very softly whispered to Mrs. Flaxman, who, casting a
startled, anxious glance towards me, went silently from the room.

Mrs. Blake, without speaking, gave me some nourishment. After I had taken
it I began to feel more like a living creature.

"Mrs. Blake," I whispered. She stooped down to listen. "Tell me, please,
how long I have lain here."

"A good long bit, but the doctor says we mustn't talk to you, or let you
talk."

"I am so tired thinking; won't you sing to me?"

"My voice ain't no great shakes; but I'll do the very best I can for you,
dearie."

She went to the other side of the room, and seating herself in a
comfortable easy-chair began in a low, crooning voice to sing one of
Doctor Watts' cradle melodies.

Probably she had learned it in childhood from her own mother, and in turn
sung it again to the infant Daniel. It soothed me better than Beethoven
or Wagner's grandest compositions could have done. I lay with closed
eyes, seeing in imagination the great army of mothers who had lulled
their babies to sleep with those same words, and the angels hovering near
with folded wings guarding the sleeping nestlings.

The voice grew indistinct, and presently sleep, more deep and refreshing
than I had known for weeks, enfolded me. The doctor entered the room at
last to put a stop to the music, and found Mrs. Blake tired and
perspiring, but singing steadily on. Without missing a note she pointed
to the bed and the peaceful sleeper. He smiled grimly and withdrew; no
doubt realizing there were other soporifics applied by nature than those
weighed and measured by the apothecary.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CONVALESCENCE.

When the curtains were withdrawn from my windows, and I was strong enough
to look once more on the outer world, I found the late April sun wa