l out nothing but--'I am not asleep!'

Guy came forward, and stood still, while she looked up to the outline
of his figure against the window. With a kind of effort he said, with
forced calmness--'He'll do now! and came to the bedside. His face was
wet with tears, and her eyes were over-flowing. After a few moments he
murmured a few low words of deep thanksgivings, and again there was a
silence.

'He is asleep quietly and comfortably,' said Guy, presently, 'and his
pulse is steadier. The faintness and sinking have been dreadful; the
doctor has been sitting with his hand on his pulse, telling me when to
put the cordial into his mouth. Twice I thought him all but gone; and
till within the last hour, I did not think he could have revived; but
now, the doctor says we may almost consider the danger as over.'

'Oh, how glad I am! Was he sensible? Could he speak?'

'Sensible at least when not fainting; but too weak to speak, or often,
to look up. When he did though, it was very kindly, very pleasantly. And
now! This is joy coming in the morning, Amy!'

'I wonder if you are happier now than after the shipwreck,' said Amy,
after a silence.

'How can you ask? The shipwreck was a gleam, the first ray that came to
cheer me in those penance hours, when I was cut off from all; and now,
oh, Amy! I cannot enter into it. Such richness and fullness of blessing
showered on me, more than I ever dared to wish for or dream of, both in
the present and future hopes. It seems more than can belong to man, at
least to me, so unlike what I have deserved, that I can hardly believe
it. It must be sent as a great trial.'

Amabel thought this so beautiful, that she could not answer; and he
presently gave her some further particulars. He went back in spite of
her entreaties that he would afford himself a little rest, saying that
the doctor was obliged to go away, and Philip still needed the most
careful watching. Amy could not sleep any more, but lay musing over that
ever-brightening goodness which had lately at all times almost startled
her from its very unearthliness.

CHAPTER 32

Sure all things wear a heavenly dress,
Which sanctifies their loveliness,
Types of that endless resting day,
When we shall be as changed as they.
--HYMN FOR SUNDAY

From that time there was little more cause for anxiety. Philip was,
indeed, exceedingly reduced, unable to turn in bed, to lift his head,
or