[CHAPTER XIX.]
"The angels sang in heaven when she was born."
Longfellow.
"Thank God, the danger is past!" came in a low-breathed exclamation from Mr. Dinsmore's lips. "Ah, my darling, did I wake you?" as he perceived the soft brown eyes of his little daughter gazing lovingly into his.
"No, papa dear, I have been awake a good while, but have not dared to move for fear of disturbing you," she said, lifting her head from his breast to put her arms about his neck, and kissing him again and again.
"Did you sleep well, daughter?" he asked, fondly stroking her hair and returning her loving caresses.
"Yes, papa, I don't believe I moved once after we stopped talking last night. I hope you too have had a good sleep?"
"Yes, and feel greatly refreshed. Our heavenly Father has been very good to us. Let us kneel down and thank him for the light of this new day and for our spared lives."
They landed in safety, breakfasted at a hotel, and took the stage for Pleasant Plains; glad to find they had it to themselves—they and their two servants.
It was a lovely October day; the roads were good, the woods gay with autumn tints, the sun shone brightly after the rain, and the air was sweet, pure, and invigorating.