“Slept!” he said at last, in a low and feeble voice. “I have been sailing, Rosalie, on a broad, bright river, and angels guided my vessel. Adalia was in my arms, and she, your angel mother, sat beside me, with her patient smile, and her sunny eye that, with its look of love, ever chased the shadows from my heart.”
“Dear papa, you weary yourself,” said the anxious girl, as he paused, laboring for breath. “Rest awhile, for I know it all—mamma was with you, and you were happy.”
“Yes,” he answered with animation, “I was happy. I felt her hand in mine, and we sailed onward and onward, far away from all sights and sounds of earth, into a glorious atmosphere, golden with the light of heaven—and all around us was His near presence, wrapping our souls in a garment of blessedness.”
“It is always round us, dear papa,” said Rosalie, alarmed at his increasing excitement; “always—even here in this poor room, where we seem left to drink the cup of poverty alone.”
“A dream!—but was it only a dream then, Rosalie?” murmured the sick man with a troubled look.
“No, dear papa; but a visitation of angels to cheer your slumbers, and whisper to your spirit of the peace and bliss of heaven,” said the gentle daughter, imprinting a kiss of love upon his cheek.
“Yes, yes; and to tell me of her guardian care,” he said; then in a clear voice, and with a burst of joyful triumph he repeated—
“ ‘Rejoice, thou troubled spirit! though in pain,
If thou canst take, even here, so sweet a flight;
What wilt thou in thy native seats again.’ ”