darkness, they were the earnest of a fuller light.

Before midnight Mr. Jocelyn joined the watchers, and seated himself
unobtrusively in a dusky corner of the room. Clara crouched on the
floor beside her mother, her head resting on the bed, and her hand
clasping the thin fingers of the dying woman. She insisted on
doing everything the poor creature required, which was but little,
for it seemed that life would waver out almost imperceptibly. Mildred
sat at the foot of the bed, where her father could see her pure
profile in the gloom. To his opium-kindled imagination it seemed
to have a radiance of its own, and to grow more and more luminous
until, in its beauty and light, it became like the countenance
of an accusing angel; then it began to recede until it appeared
infinitely far away. "Millie," he called, in deep apprehension.

"What is it, papa?" she asked, springing to his side and putting
her hand on his shoulder.

"Oh!" he said, shudderingly. "I had such a bad dream! You seemed
fading away from me, till I could no longer see your face. It was
so horribly real!"

She came and sat beside him, and held his hand in both of hers.
"That's right," he remarked; "now my dreams will be pleasant."

"You didn't seem to be asleep, papa," said the girl, in some
surprise; "indeed, you seemed looking at me fixedly."

"Then I must have been asleep with my eyes open," he answered with
a trace of embarrassment.