eagerly than he had ever known her answer him before.
They came in, and stole gently to the bed-side.
"Fling back the curtains," said Mrs. Dalton; "I am weary of this pale and sickly lamp-light."
Her wish was immediately obeyed, and the bright day-break of a June morning at once filled the sick chamber. For a few moments the long silken eye-lashes lay heavily on the burning cheek—the first effort to bear the day was too much. She soon, however, gazed around her again, and her eyes rested, how fondly! on the faces of her children. It was a strange contrast that room—all seemed so fresh and so glad. The rosy hues of the morning gladdened every object on which they fell; the crimson-touched bunches of the honeysuckle sent in their perfume at the open window, while the trees beyond glittered in the sunshine, more glittering from the early dew yet sparkling on the branches. The cheerful singing of the birds made every bough musical, and one, it was the lark, chaunting its morning
