out the room. Her heart stood still;
she was breathless; she put down her light and on tiptoes went to the
bedside. Denas was fast asleep. Her long hair lay loose upon the
pillow, her face was pale and faintly smiling, her hands open and at
rest upon the coverlet. Her deep, slow breathing showed her to be far
below conscious being, and Joan knelt down at her child's side and
filled her empty eyes with the fair picture and her empty heart with
the hopes it inspired.

Still Denas slept. Then Joan went into the outer room and sat down to
wait for John. As the dawn came up the East she pushed aside the
foliage of her flowering plants and watched the beach for John's
approach. He came on with his mates, but they scattered to their
cottages, and at last he was alone. Then Joan went to the door and he
smiled when he saw her waiting. She made an imperative motion of
silence; she took his string of fish and his water-bottle out of his
hands and laid them very softly down, and while John was yet lost in
amazement at her actions, she put her hand in his and led him to their
girl's bedside. Without a word both stood looking at her. The dawn
showed every change in her young face, and the pathos of hidden
suffering was revealed unconsciously as she slept.

There is some wonderful magnet in the human eye; no sleeper can long
resist its influence. As John and Joan gazed steadily on their
sleeping daughter she, became restless, a faint flush flew to her
cheeks, she moved her hands. Joan slipped down on her knees; when the
girl opened her eyes she was ready to fold her in her arms. John stood
upright, and it was his wide-open, longing gaze which brought
Denasia's soul back to her. She gazed back silently into her father's
face for a moment and then murmured:

"Father! forgive me! Oh, mother! mother!"

They forgave her with tears of joy. They put her fault out of words
and out of memory. Confession and forgiveness was an inarticulate
service of sorrow; but joy and welcome were eloquent and full of
tender words. For once John locked his door and did not call his
neighbours to share his gladness. He speedily understood the shortness
and secrecy of her visit. After all, it was but a farewell. The joy
was dashed with tears. The hope quickly faded away.

They did not try to turn her from the way she had promised to go. John
said only, "The Lord go with you, Denas," and Joan wept at the
thought of the land so far, far off. But they divine