"Nonsense! Go to sleep. I'm going to put down the light," said Aunt Margret, and she lowered the lamp and put it to stand on a table behind the bed-curtains.
"How good you are to me! Everybody is good to me," came in a fainter voice from the shadow of the bed.
"That is because everybody loves you, Thora," said Anna in a husky murmur. "You must always believe that, whatever happens."
"How sweet it is to be loved! If I could only think that it would last----"
The baby became fretful, and Thora began to sing it to sleep.
"Sleep, baby, sleep,
Angels bright thy slumbers keep,
Sleep, baby, sleep."
Her drowsy voice ran a line and stopped; then ran another line and stopped again, and then the faint voice said:
"How sweet it would be to fall asleep like this some day--baby and I--and awake in heaven!"
"Hush!"
"I should be sorry for Oscar, but still----"