mother."

I got her back to the house and to her bed, whither she went
obediently enough, and soon fell into the sleep of exhaustion.
But there was no more sleep for me that night. I kept a grim
vigil with dread.

When I had married Josephine, one of those officious relatives
that are apt to buzz about a man's marriage told me that her
grandmother had been insane all the latter part of her life. She
had grieved over the death of a favorite child until she lost her
mind, and, as the first indication of it, she had sought by
nights a white dream-child which always called her, so she said,
and led her afar with a little, pale, beckoning hand.

I had smiled at the story then. What had that grim old bygone to
do with springtime and love and Josephine? But it came back to
me now, hand in hand with my fear. Was this fate coming on my
dear wife? It was too horrible for belief. She was so young, so
fair, so sweet, this girl-wife of mine. It had been only a bad
dream, with a frightened, bewildered waking. So I tried to
comfort myself.

When she awakened in the morning she did not speak of what had
happened and I did not dare to. She seemed more cheerful that
day than she had been, and went about her household duties
briskly and skillfully. My fear lifted. I was sure now that she
had only dreamed. And I was confirmed in my hopeful belief when
two nights had passed away uneventfully.