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“Celestial harps, prepare
To sound your loftiest air;
You choral angels at the throne,
Your customary hymns postpone;”

and thus, dear girl, she kept herself from thinking even of the wretched Hero and Leander lines, till her clock struck three. Upstairs then to her own tower, and to look out upon the night. The sister flame was steady. The wind was all hushed. But the snow was as steady, right and left, behind and before. Down again, one more look at the darlings, and then, as she walked up and down her little kitchen, she repeated the verses she had learned, and then sat down to–

“You with your heavenly ray
Gild the expanse this day;

“You with your heavenly ray
Gild–the expanse–this day;

“You–with–your–heavenly–ray”–

Dear Laura, bless God, she is asleep. “He giveth his beloved sleep.”

* * * * *

Her head is thrown back on the projecting wing of grandmamma’s tall easy-chair, her arms are resting relaxed on its comfortable arms, her lips just open with a smile, as she dreams of something in the kingdom of God’s heaven, when, as the lazy day just begins to grow gray, Tom, white with snow to his middle, holding the boat’s lantern before him as he steals into her kitchen, crosses the room, and looks down on her,–what a shame to wake her,–bends down and kisses her!

Dear child! How she started,–“At midnight there is a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom cometh,”–“Why, Tom! Oh! my dearest, is it you?”

* * * * *

“Have I been asleep on duty?” This was her first word when she came fairly to herself.

“Guess not,” said old Mipples, “both lanterns was burning when I come in. ‘Most time to put ’em out, Major! ‘Keepers must be diligent to save oil by all reasonable prevision.'”

“Is the north light burning?” said poor Laura. And she looked guiltily at her tell-tale clock.

“Darling,” said Tom, reverently, “if it were not burning, we should not be here.”

And Laura took her husband to see the babies, not willing to let his hand leave hers, nor he, indeed, to let hers leave his. Old Mipples thought himself one too many, and went away, wiping his eyes, to the other light. “Time to extinguish it,” he said.

But before Tom and Laura had known he was gone, say in half an hour, that is, he was back again, hailing them from below.

“Major! Major! Major! An English steamer is at anchor in the cove, and is sending her boat ashore.”

Tom and Laura rushed to the window; the snow was all over now, and they could see the monster lying within half a mile. “Where would they be, Miss Cutts, if somebody had not wound up the lamps at midnight? Guess they said ‘Merry Christmas’ when they see ’em.” And Laura held her breath when she thought what might have been. Tom and Mipples ran down to the beach to hail them, and direct the landing. Tom and Mipples shook the hand of each man as he came ashore, and then Laura could see them hurrying to the house together. Steps on the landing; steps on the stairway,–the door is open, and,–not Tom this time,–but her dear lost brother Jem, in the flesh, and in a heavy pea-coat.

“Merry Christmas! Laura!”

* * * * *

“Laura,” said Jem, as they sat at their Christmas dinner, “what do you think I thought of first, when I heard the cable run out so like blazes; when I rushed up and saw your yellow lanterns there?”

“How should I know, Jem?”

“‘They that dwell in the shadow of death, upon them the light hath shined.'”

“But I did not think it was you, Laura.”