"To those who knew the mystery which connected Agnes with this child there was something strangely pathetic in the unconscious recognition, the half-forgotten association. The strange part lay chiefly in this, that the child was more conscious than the woman. The child remembered--the woman only felt at her heart a throb of reawakened love. And the mother who watched saw not the mysterious chain which bound these two together, yet she saw what was enough for her, love in the one and contentment in the other, and she lay back and rested with a heart full of such deep peace as she had never hoped again to know. I saw her fold her hands, and knew that she was half praying, half speaking to her husband. Even as she prayed his presence was beside her, and I then felt certain that the end was near.
"'Agnes,' I said, 'give back the child to its mother, that for one moment the three may be united.'
"She looked at me in surprise, wondering what I could mean, then placed the little one in its mother's arms; and the child, conscious, as children often are, of the spirit world around them, felt the dual presence, and lifting up its tiny hands gave a little cry of joy. But the cry broke the delicate thread which till now had held the mother bound to earth, and her spirit was free. Then a strange thing happened, for as the two spirits were drawn together they became aware of the mystery which connected me with the child they had loved, and an indescribable joy entered their souls and passed to my own like some strain of joyful melody.
"The little child was taken by Agnes, after her mother's funeral, to Somerville. And now, if you wish to do so, we will go and see Vera."
We went together into the library, and there, sitting by the fire with a picture-book on her lap, was a little girl about seven. She sprang up as soon as she saw Sydney, and rushing up to him threw her arms around his neck. She was the most beautiful child I have ever seen; her skin had the delicate purity of perfect health; her features were more finely modelled than those which we generally see in children, but it was the deep loveliness of her large dark-blue eyes which gave the chief attraction. Her expression, and the firm outline of the lower part of her face, showed determination, faithfulness, and a deep capacity for love and devotion.
"Come, Vera," Sydney said, "I want to introduce you to a friend," and he led her to me.
She lifted up her face to be kissed, and I bent over her and touched her soft waving curls with my lips. What did it all mean? Could this be Vera's child, or some one named after her? There was a likeness to the face of the beautiful girl I had seen in my visions, but the child was not only far more lovely, her expression showed greater purity, refinement, and nobility. During the short time she sat with us I was particularly struck with her devotion to Sydney; she seemed ever trying to anticipate some want of his so as to fulfil it.
When at last he said, "You must go now, dear, and get to bed, as we shall have a long day's travelling to-morrow," she came and climbed on to his knee, and resting her head on his shoulder, said--
"Is it not lovely to think that we are going now to be together? It is good of you to take me; I hope I shall not be much trouble."
"I don't think so, dear," he answered; "you might perhaps have been a trouble once, but now it is different."