the next; and drop by drop the cup of sorrow was drained. And when the
draught is done, should we be the better, Nelly, if it had been nectar?

I had neither died nor gone mad when the day came--the last complete day
that George was to see on earth. It was Sunday; and, after a sleepless
night, I saw the red sun break through the grey morning. I always sleep
with my window open; and, as I lay and watched the sunrise, I thought--

"He will see this sunrise, and to-morrow's sunrise; but no other! No,
no!--never more!"

But then a stronger thought seemed to rise involuntarily against that
one--

"Peace, fool! If this be the sorrow, it is one that must come to all
men."

And then, Nelly (it is strange, but it was so), there broke out in the
stone pine by my window a chorus of little birds whom the sunbeams had
awakened; and they sang so sweet and so loud (like the white bird that
sang to the monk Felix), that earthly cares seemed to fade away, and I
fell asleep, and slept the first sound, dreamless sleep that had blessed
me since our great trouble came.




CHAPTER V.

BETWEEN TWO WORLDS.