This made her submit at last to be wrapped up warmly and laid on the parlor sofa. It was well for her. The fatigue and subsequent excitement, the exhaustion of her sorrow, and the pleasant warmth combined to cause a drowsiness that could not be restrained.
Laura forgot all her troubles. While the fate of her parents still trembled in the balance she slept childhood's unbroken sleep, and Jane was set free to run up to her own little charge, who had been aroused by the commotion and was crying out for her lustily.
She found him so excited that as it was impossible to divide herself between parlor and bedroom, she thought it well to wrap him up warmly and bring him down.
The bright fire was as effectual with Willie as it had been with Laura. Jane laid him down on the sofa, and the hard, unsympathetic woman felt her eyes grow dim and her heart soft as she watched the quiet sleep of the little ones—the one round and rosy as the day, the other pale, with a troubled look even in sleep, but fair as one of God's angels.
[CHAPTER XI.]
UNITED AT LAST.
One moment these were heard and seen—another
Past; and the two who stood beneath that night,
Each only saw or heard or felt the other.
Adèle had been swift—swift as the wind. Instinctively in her rapid departure she had chosen their favorite road, that which led down to the sea, but at first it seemed as if all her efforts were destined to be in vain. The fluttering garments had disappeared; on the white road, stretching away into the distance, was no sign of the wanderer.
Choking down the horror which possessed her, the young girl tried to collect her senses. A few moments ago their patient had been sleeping so peacefully that their fears had been set at rest, they had believed her out of danger; now—Adèle was inexperienced, but rapidly in her despair old stories of disease, madness, delirium, unnatural strength crowded in upon her mind.