"No, no, Guly, not asleep, but wide, wide awake—in my heart, in my soul, everywhere!" exclaimed Arthur, flinging his clothes hastily off, and creeping to his brother's side, as if flying from some horrid phantom.
Guly threw an arm about him, and with the other hand stroked the dark locks soothingly back from the excited brow.
"There, Arthur! brother! hush! don't sigh and shudder so, don't; it's all fancy, all mere idle fancy. Do you remember, Arthur, how, on such a night as this, the moon used to shine down upon the tall trees and green lawn at home? And when all those merry friends used to visit
us, how their figures would flit in and out so brightly through the long green avenues, and the shadows falling at their sides—do you not remember, Arthur?"
"The shadows falling at their side? Yes, Guly, I remember."
"And how, when on such bright nights we sailed upon the Hudson, the diamond foam broke away from the prow of our little boat, like a peal of jewelled laughter, if such a thing could be? When we get the old home back, Arthur, we will find that old boat out, and have it, too—eh, brother?"
"Dear Guly, yes."
"Everything will be so like its old self, we shall almost think all our troubles and separation one long dream. When that time comes we can have no more of earthly happiness to ask for—our old home and our old joys."
"And our old friends, Guly, gliding through the green avenues, with their shadows under their feet. Our old friends, with their old shadows—"
Arthur was asleep; soothed to slumber by the gentle words and fond tones breathed upon his ear, and he lay quietly, with his face calm, and his cheek upon his hand.