"Oh, how beautiful, how welcome the morning is!" she exclaimed, coming out on the piazza. "To think that this is the same world that we saw last night—it's almost impossible."
"Mr. Yocomb's words will yet prove true," I said, "and clearer skies and better grain will be the result of the storm."
"Oh, I'm so glad, I'm so very glad," she murmured. "This morning is like a benediction;" and its brightness and beauty glowed in her face.
"I can tell you something that will please you greatly," I continued. "I have visited the little home in the garden that was open to last night's sky. The father and mother robins are well, and I'm sure all the little ones are too, for the mother robin had her head under her wing—a thing impossible, I suppose, if anything was amiss with the children."
"Oh, I'm so glad!" she again repeated, and there was a joyous, exquisite thrill in her tones.
At that moment there came a burst of song from the top of the pear-tree in the garden, and we saw the head of the little household greeting the day.
Almost as sweetly and musically my companion's laugh trilled out:
"So it wasn't the day of fate after all."
Impelled by an impulse that for the moment seemed irresistible, I took her hand as I said earnestly:
"Yes, Miss Warren, for me it was, whether for a lifetime of happiness or of disappointment."