secrets on the shore below. The candle burnt low in its socket, and
Morva replaced it with another, for she would not be left in the dark
with this silent unconscious being, much as she loved her.

Sometimes she ventured upon a gentle appeal, "Mother fâch!" but no
answer came from the closed lips, and again she waited while the night
hours passed on.

"Where is her spirit wandering, I wonder?" thought the girl, setting
her untaught and inexperienced mind to work upon the fathomless
mystery. "Perhaps in the land which we roam in our dreams. 'Tis pity
she cannot remember; 'tis pity she cannot tell me about it, for, oh, I
would like to know."

But to-night, at all events, it seemed there was to be no elucidation
of this enigma of life. The night hours dragged on slowly, and still
Sara slept on, until in the pale dawn Morva gently opened the door and
looked out towards the east, where a rosy light was beginning to flush
the clear blue of a cloudless sky. Already the sun was rising over the
grey slopes, the cottage walls caught the rosy tints, and the ribes
tree, which alone was tall enough to catch his beams over the high turf
wall of the court, glowed under his morning kiss. Morva looked round
the fair scene with eyes and heart that took in all its beauty. A cool
sea breeze, brine-laden, swept over the moor, refreshing and
invigorating her, and she turned again to the cottage with renewed
longing for Sara's awakening.

When she entered, she found that the rays of the rising sun shone full
upon the quiet face, on the placid brow, and the closed eyes, imparting
to them a look of unearthly spirituality. Moved by the sight, and by