"Seen my boy! Is he not dead?"
"No; he is alive, and in this country, too."
Aunt Dorothy turned pale, but did not reply for a few minutes, during which she grasped his hand convulsively.
"Turn your face to the light," she said faintly.
Martin obeyed, and bending over her whispered, "He is here; I am Martin, my dear, dear aunt—"
No expression of surprise escaped from Aunt Dorothy as she folded her arms round his neck and pressed his head upon her bosom. His hot tears fell upon her neck while she held him, but she spoke not. It was evident that as the strength infused by the wine abated her faculties became confused. At length she whispered,—
"It is good of you to come to see me, darling boy. You have often come to me in my dreams. But do not leave me so soon; stay a very little longer,"
"This is no dream, dearest aunt," whispered Martin, while his tears flowed faster; "I am really here."
"Ay, so you always say, my darling child; but you always go away and leave me. This is a dream, no doubt, like all the rest; but oh, it seems very very real! You never wept before, although you often smiled. Surely this is the best and brightest dream I ever had!"
Continuing to murmur his name while she clasped him tightly to her bosom,
Aunt Dorothy gently fell asleep.