“’O come, my Saviour, come away,
    And bear me to the sky! 
  Nor let thy chariot wheels delay—­
    Make haste and bring it nigh: 
  I long to see thy glorious face,
    And in thy image shine;
  To triumph in victorious grace,
    And be forever thine.’”

Mr. Randolph’s chair here grated inharmoniously on the floor, as if he were moving; but Juanita went on without heeding it.

  “’Then will I tune my harp of gold
    To my eternal King. 
  Through ages that can ne’er be told
    I’ll make thy praises ring. 
  All hail, eternal Son of God,
    Who died on Calvary! 
  Who bought me with his precious blood,
    From endless misery.’”

Mr. Randolph stood by Mrs. Benoit’s chair.

“My good woman,” he said in suppressed tones, “this is a strange way to put a patient to sleep.”

“As your honour sees!” replied the black woman placidly.  Mr. Randolph looked.  Daisy’s eyes were closed; the knitted brow had smoothed itself out in slumber; the deep breath told how profound was the need that weakness and weariness had made.  He stood still.  The black woman’s hand softly drew the curtain between Daisy’s face and the moonlight, and then she noiselessly withdrew herself almost out of sight, to a low seat in a corner.  So Mr. Randolph betook himself to his station in the doorway; and whether he slept or no, the hours of the night stole on quietly.  The breeze died down; the moon and the stars shone steadily over the lower world; and Daisy slept, and her two watchers were still.  By and by, another light began to break in the eastern horizon, and the stars grew pale.  The morning had come.

The birds were twittering in the branches before Daisy awoke.  At the first stir she made, her father and Mrs. Benoit were instantly at her side.  Mr. Randolph bent over her and asked tenderly how she felt.

“I feel hot, papa.”

“Everybody must do that,” said Mr. Randolph.  “The breeze has died away and the morning is very close.”

“Papa, have you been awake all night?”

He stooped down, and kissed her.

“You must go home and get some breakfast and go to sleep,” Daisy said, looking at him lovingly with her languid eyes.

“Shall I bring you anything from home, Daisy?” he said, kissing her again.

The child looked a little wistfully, but presently said no; and Mr. Randolph left her to do as she had said.  Mrs. Benoit was privately glad to have him out of the way.  She brought water and bathed Daisy’s face and hands, and gave her a delicate breakfast of orange; and contrived to be a long while about it all, so as to rest and refresh her as much as possible.  But when it was all done, Daisy was very hot and weary and in much pain.  And the sun was only in the tops of the trees yet.  The black woman, stood considering her.

“It will be a hot day, Miss Daisy—­and my little lady is suffering already, when the dew is not dried off the grass.  Can she say, ’Thank the Lord?’”