August opened his eyes slowly and looked into the face of the Philosopher. Then he slowly closed his eyes again, and a something, not a smile--he was too weak for that--but a look of infinite content, spread over his wan face.
"I know," he whisperd.
"Know what?" asked Andrew, leaning down to catch his words.
"Julia." And a single tear crept out from under the closed lid. The tender mother wiped it away.
After resting a moment, August looked up at Andrew's face inquiringly.
"She is coming," said the Philosopher.
August smiled very faintly, but Andrew was sure he smiled, and again leaned down his ear.
"She is here," whispered August; "I heard Charon bark, and I--saw--your--face."
Andrew now stepped to the closet-door and opened it, and Julia came out.
"Blamed ef he a'n't a witch!" whispered Jonas. "Cunjures a angel out of his cupboard!"