Of one thing only was I certain—­the hand that still held mine, which kept me from drifting quite away from the shores of time.  I tried to cling to it, but my hand could only lie nerveless within its firm grasp.  I believed if once the hold was loosened I should slip quietly out into the broader sea just beyond me.  I wondered which was best—­life or death,—­then far down in my soul I seemed to grow strong, and could calmly say, “as God wills;” and for a long time I seemed to be passively awaiting His will.  It was very strange, the thoughts I had, lying there so far within the border land; as if the faculties of mind and soul had nearly slipped the fleshly leash, and independently of their environment, boldly held counsel, and speculated on the possibilities of their immediate future.

But gradually the wheels of life began to turn more strongly.  When next I opened my eyes the daylight was softly penetrating the closely drawn curtains.  Mrs. Flaxman was standing near, looking worn and pale; but Mrs. Blake was also there, and loomed up before me, strong as ever—­a look into her kindly face was like a tonic.  When she saw me watching her she turned around, and very softly whispered to Mrs. Flaxman, who, casting a startled, anxious glance towards me, went silently from the room.

Mrs. Blake, without speaking, gave me some nourishment.  After I had taken it I began to feel more like a living creature.

“Mrs. Blake,” I whispered.  She stooped down to listen.  “Tell me, please, how long I have lain here.”

“A good long bit, but the doctor says we mustn’t talk to you, or let you talk.”

“I am so tired thinking; won’t you sing to me?”

“My voice ain’t no great shakes; but I’ll do the very best I can for you, dearie.”

She went to the other side of the room, and seating herself in a comfortable easy-chair began in a low, crooning voice to sing one of Doctor Watts’ cradle melodies.

Probably she had learned it in childhood from her own mother, and in turn sung it again to the infant Daniel.  It soothed me better than Beethoven or Wagner’s grandest compositions could have done.  I lay with closed eyes, seeing in imagination the great army of mothers who had lulled their babies to sleep with those same words, and the angels hovering near with folded wings guarding the sleeping nestlings.

The voice grew indistinct, and presently sleep, more deep and refreshing than I had known for weeks, enfolded me.  The doctor entered the room at last to put a stop to the music, and found Mrs. Blake tired and perspiring, but singing steadily on.  Without missing a note she pointed to the bed and the peaceful sleeper.  He smiled grimly and withdrew; no doubt realizing there were other soporifics applied by nature than those weighed and measured by the apothecary.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Convalescence.