"And how did the pillow get under my head?"

"Mr. Abraham said 'he was sorry that you had come.' You looked very
white in your sleep, and he said 'you wouldn't wake up'; so I lifted
your head just a mite, and he fixed the pillow under it. He told me to
stay here until you awoke."

"Which I have most decidedly done, Katie," I said; and I fully
determined to take no more naps in this house.

How could it have happened? I accounted for the fact in the most
reasonable way I knew,--I, who rejoice in being reasonable,--by thinking
it occurred in consequence of my long watchfulness, and sombreness of
thought and soul.

"I am sorry that you didn't wake me," I said to Katie, as she moved the
chairs in the room to their respective places.

With the most childlike implicitness in the world, the little maid stood
still and looked at me.

"I _couldn't_, you know, Miss Percival, when Mr. Abraham told me not
to," were the positive words she used in giving her reason.

I forgave Katie, and wondered what the secret of this man's commanding
power could be, as on this Saturday night.

I left the world, and went up to take my last watch with the
convalescing lady. Her brother was with her. He looked a little
surprised, when I went in; but the cloud of anger had gone away: folded