“Now Susu pay, too. Pease, Susu.  Do!”

The baby plead; and Susie, raising her eyes to Rosie’s, felt mother, not far away, but near, very near, and pleading through her child.

The sunny head was dropped again, and Susie prayed—­even as Rosie had begged her.  Prayed for guidance to the better way.

Three pair of little pattering feet were resting.  Three rosy faces pressed the downy pillow, and Susie’s evening task was done.

Gently she stole away.

“I will go to father myself, to-night.  I will plead with him until he must yield,” Susie said, as cautiously closing, the door of the nursery she entered her own room.

The evening was oppressive, and Susie’s black dress became very uncomfortable.  Flitting about, guided by the moonbeams, she sought for something of lighter texture.  The mourning robe was laid aside, and a dress, white and fleecy, wrapped her slender form.  The clustering ringlets were smoothed back, and rolled in a heavy coil high on the back of her head.

“Now I will go down.  Father will be alone at this hour, and—­” She paused, raised her sweet eyes upward, and clasping her hands she murmured, “Mother in heaven, plead for me.”

Noiselessly she opened the door and glanced into the room.  Her father sat with his back toward her, leaning on a table over which were scattered books and papers.  In his hand he held the picture of her mother.  She drew back a little, still, however, standing within the door.  She dared not interrupt the sacred privacy of the hour.  The rustle of her garments, light as it was, must have caught his ear, for his bowed head was raised.

“Mary! my wife! my own!” he cried, starting forward, with extended arms.  “Thank God for granting me one glimpse of you again!”

Susie, awed and trembling, raised her eyes to see clothed as in life, the same sweet, gentle face, the rippling hair, caught back from the smooth, clear brow.

“Mother!” she breathed forth.

The room was lighted only by the moonbeams; but the vision was plainly seen.  Another eager glance, and Susie stole away to her own room, and sank almost fainting into her mother’s chair.  A little while, and grown calmer, she opened her eyes, to see again, directly in front of her, the same vision.

She started forward, stretching out her arms, and calling softly, “Mother.”

Nearer—­nearer she drew, until, face to face, she stood beside the large mirror in front of which she had seated herself.

Unwittingly in one of her mother’s dresses she had robed herself, and gathered her curls in the manner her mother was accustomed to.

“How very, very like her I am!  Yes, now I know:  father saw me in the mirror opposite which I stood.  Well, I will not break his sweet delusion.  I meant it not, Heaven knows.  Oh, if mother could only come to him—­in dreams, perhaps—­to plead for me!  I cannot desert him, I cannot; I dare not!  But Frank—­oh, how can I give him up!  I will give up neither, but clinging to both loved ones, will trust to Heaven for a happy decision.”