Kneeling down by his bedside, and forcing herself to speak in a clear voice, she began:
"I dreamt, dear, that you and I lived here together, just as we did at Mrs. Blake's cottage, only that you were quite well and strong; and that one beautiful night, when the moon shone brightly—see, it is shining so to-night—you and I walked on the sands at low tide. I had a great longing upon me to go to mother. I thought the glistening ladder of light the moon shed across the sea seemed a way that would lead us to her. You said you would come too, and hand-in-hand we ran over the sands. But when we came to the water's edge, there stood father, and though we tried, we could not pass under his outstretched arms. He asked us where we were going, and when I told him, he begged us to come back, and wait till he was ready to go with us. Then—"
"Yes, yes," said Phil, interrupting her, but speaking in so low a voice that they had to bend down their ears to catch the words—"Yes, yes, I remember. I couldn't wait; I had gone on. Father, you and Millie will come together some day."
There was a long silence. The father and daughter knew that the light was going out fast. Day was just breaking, when again the weak, quivering voice was heard:
"Give my love to uncle. Tell him I would not have it different—I am going on first, that's all.—Don't let her know till after she's married.—Cleansed in the blood—Drawn with the bands of love.—Look, Millie! The silvery pathway is shining just as it did when you saw it.—Why—why, mother!—"
Phil started up in bed, drew one deep gasp, and fell back upon his pillow—dead.
* * * * *
The knell tolled at Chormouth, and mingled its sounds with the distant echo of Miss Crawford's wedding bells, but she knew not till days after that Phil's happy spirit had passed away from earth on her marriage morn.
Dr. Bethune is a famous physician now.
"Little feet pattering and little tongues chattering—"