And with his cheek against her soft hair, and his strong arms firmly round her, Jim Airth repeated, slowly, Mrs. Beecher Stowe’s matchless poem:

“Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh, When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee; Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness—I am with Thee.
“Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows, The solemn hush of nature newly born; Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration, In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
“As in the dawning, o’er the waveless ocean, The image of the morning star doth rest; So in this stillness Thou beholdest only Thine image in the waters of my breast.
“When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer; Sweet the repose, beneath Thy wings o’ershadowing, But sweeter still to wake, and find Thee there.
“So shall it be at last, in that bright morning When the soul waketh, and life’s shadows flee; Oh, in that hour, fairer than daylight’s dawning, Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee!”

Jim Airth’s voice ceased. He waited a moment in silence.

Then—“Do you like it?” he asked softly.

There was no answer. Myra slept as peacefully as a little child. He could feel the regular motion of her quiet breathing, beneath his hand.

“Thank God!” said Jim Airth, with his eyes on the morning star.


CHAPTER XIII

THE AWAKENING