"She is up in my room, father, resting."
"Resting!" Father Morgan repeated the word, wonder and almost terror in his voice. Rest was something that Mother Morgan never took. The word seemed foreign to her nature. Even when she slept you hardly thought of her as actually resting. "She must be sick!"
"Oh no, she isn't; I think she feels better than usual. She will have a nice rest, and be down presently."
And then the farmer turned and looked wonderingly at his daughter-in-law. He detected the minor tone of music in her voice, and he noticed the brightness in her face. It was always a bright face, but here was positive joy. What was there to be joyful about? Father Morgan did not define this questioning feeling, neither did he think of angels. He had not been reading about the shining of Moses' face after his communion with God, as Dorothy had; but he told himself, for perhaps the thousandth time, that "Lewis had an unusual kind of a wife, somehow."
It was verging toward midnight, and Farmer Morgan was asleep on the old settee in the parlour, when Mrs. Morgan opened the door quietly and came in.
"Did you get any rest, mother?"
It was Dorothy who questioned, while Louise looked up quickly.
Her voice was in its usual calm, but was it imagination that made it seem to Louise as though the peculiar, hard ring had gone out of it?
"Yes," she said, "a good rest; better than any that I ever had in my life. You girls may both go to bed now. I would just as soon sit up all night as not." And then she looked at Louise and smiled.
"What were those words Nellie said to you last night?"