Day unto day her dainty hands
Make life’s soil’d temples clean,
And there’s a wake of glory where
Her spirit pure hath been.
At midnight through that shadow land
Her living face doth gleam,
The dying kiss her shadow, and
The dead smile in her dream.
Gerald Massey.
A little later, Jean, honest woman, suffered an electric shock. She was brushing out baby Hugh’s curls, that had been disordered by the walk, when she thought she heard Mrs. St. Clair’s footsteps, only it was over-quick like, as she remarked later, “like a bairn running up the stairs,” but she fairly shook with surprise when the door opened, and a rosy, dimpled, smiling creature stood before her.