Night and day, day and night, as fast as the steam-god could take him, he traveled, his heart swelling with alternate hope and fear as he neared the north-land, seeing from afar the tall heads of the New England mountains, and knowing by that token that he was almost home.

* * * * * *

It was night, dark night at Grassy Spring, and the summer rain, which all the day had fallen in heavy showers, beat drearily against the windows of the room where a fair young girl was keeping watch over the white-faced man whose life was fast ebbing away.  They were alone,—­Dr. Griswold and Nina—­for both would have it so.  He, because he felt how infinitely precious to him would be his last few hours with her, when there was no curious ear to listen; and she, because she would have Miggie sleep.  Nina knew no languor from wakefulness.  She was accustomed to it, and as if imbued with supernatural strength, she had sat night after night in that close room, ministering to the sick man as no one else could have done, and by her faithfulness and tender care repaying him in part for the love which for long, weary years had known no change, and which, as life draw near its close, manifested itself in a desire to have her constantly at his side, where he could look into her eyes, and hear the murmurings of her bird-like voice.

Thus far Edith and the servants had shared her vigils, but this night she preferred to be alone, insisting that Edith, who began to show signs of weariness, should occupy the little room, adjoining, where she could be called, if necessary.  Not apprehending death so soon the physician acquiesced in this arrangement, stipulating, however, that Phillis should sleep upon the lounge in Dr. Griswold’s chamber, but the care, the responsibility, should all be Nina’s, he said, and with childish alacrity she hastened to her post.  It was the first time she had kept the watch alone, but from past experience the physician believed she could be trusted, and he left her without a moment’s hesitation.

Slowly the hours went by, and Nina heard no sound save the low breathing of the sleepers near, the dropping of the rain, and the mournful sighing of the wind through the maple trees.  Midnight came, and then the eyes of the sick man opened wide and wandered about the room as if in quest of some one.

“Nina,” he said, faintly, “Are you here?  Why has the lamp gone out?  It’s so dark that I can’t see your face.”

Bending over him, Nina replied,

“I’m here, doctor.  Nina’s here.  Shall I get more light so you can see?”

“Yes, darling, more light—­more light;” and swift as a fawn Nina ran noiselessly from room to room, gathering up lamp after lamp, and candle after candle, and bringing them to the sick chamber, which blazed as if on fire, while the musical laugh of the lunatic echoed through the room as she whispered to herself, “Twenty sperm candles and fifteen lamps!  ’Tis a glorious watch I keep to-night.”