CHAPTER XLIX.
THE DOUBLE BIRTH-DAY.
Brother awake—my soul is strong with pain—
And humbled with a night of solemn prayer,
Never—oh, never, can I rest again,
Till restitution lifts me from despair!
When aunt Hannah entered uncle Nathan's room he was sound asleep, with a smile upon his half-open mouth, and two large arms folded lovingly over his head, as if a sweet morning nap were the most, exquisite enjoyment known to him. For a moment aunt Hannah stood by the bed-side with her eyes, full of dark trouble, fixed upon his serene face. When had she slept so tranquilly? would she ever know an hour of innocent, child-like slumber like that again?
"Nathan—brother Nathan," she said, in a husky voice that aroused the old man from its very strangeness; "get up—I have something for you to do."
"Why, Hannah," said the old man, rubbing his eyes like a great fat child, "am I late? what is the matter? just give me my clothes there, and I'll be up before you can get the breakfast on the table. I'm very sorry, very sorry, indeed; but somehow, I couldn't seem to get asleep, last night, tired as I was—you know what night it was. Old times keep me awake nights, Hannah, I think so much just now of poor little Anna!"
"It isn't late, Nathan," answered the sister, still in her hoarse, unnatural voice, "but I want you to go up the street, and ask our minister to come here at ten o'clock."
"The minister! why, what for, sister Hannah? You ain't getting anxious, nor nothing—I thought the day of regeneration had come, long ago, with both of us."
"Do not ask me questions, now, brother, but get up and go my errand."
"Yes, yes, of course," answered uncle Nat, eyeing the pale face before him, anxiously; "I'll do anything that's best."