[CHAPTER XI.]
The tops of the Alleghanies loomed up darkly against the eastern sky as it flushed with the rosy hues of a new day; the delicate shades of rose pink and pale blue changed to crimson and gold, and anon the increasing light aroused old Vashti from the heavy slumber into which she had fallen some hours before.
She started up, rubbed her eyes, and glancing from the window, muttered, "'Bout time dis chile was wakin' up and lookin' after tings. Sun's jus' gwine to peep 'bove dose mountings. Wonder how ole marster is 'bout dis time?"
She had thrown herself down upon her bed without undressing. Finishing her remarks with something between a sigh and a groan, she slowly gathered herself up and went stumbling from the room, hardly more than half awake yet, having lost much sleep in the last two or three weeks.
But reaching the upper chamber where her mistress had kept solitary vigil through the night, she entered very quietly, extinguished the candle, drew aside the window curtains, letting in the morning light and air, then stepping to the foot of the bed, stood silently gazing upon its occupant, the big tears stealing down her sable cheeks.
The form lying there was attenuated, the face thin, haggard, deathly; the sunken eyes were closed, and the breath came fitfully from the ghastly, parted lips.
Mrs. Clendenin seemed unconscious of Vashti's entrance; her eyes were riveted upon that pallid face, the cold hand was clasped in hers, and her heart was sending up agonizing petitions.
They were granted; he stirred slightly, opened his eyes, looking full into hers with a clear, steady, loving gaze, while the cold fingers feebly responded to her tender clasp.
"My wife, my darling!" he whispered, and she bent eagerly to catch the low breathed words. "God bless you for your faithful love! I'm going—going home to be with Christ; and it's all peace—peace and light."
The eyelids drooped, the fingers fell away from her grasp, the breast heaved with one long-drawn sigh, and all was still.