"I see it," she said. "I understand. This is _not_ God’s will. It is not _His_ work. His compassions fail not. His love is over all His children. With Him is the Fountain of Life. Does He not say, ’I will redeem them from death’? He will save this dear child from the grave. Leave me, please. I want to be alone--alone with Carol and God. I want to realize it. Yes; _God’s will be done_. Life, not death, is God’s will. I see it, I see so clearly." To her husband she said softly, "I will ring if I want anything, dear. Don’t let anyone come into the room until I ring." When all had left the room, and the door was closed, she knelt beside the bed, with outstretched arms. It was a mother’s cry to God for the life of a child that was as dear to her as her own. Hour after hour passed, and still she knelt. Words failed her, petition ceased: the realization came to her that God is Life: in Him we live, and move, and have our being. In Infinite Life there is no death. Death never is, and never can be God’s will. The knowledge, the understanding of God as All-in-all vanquishes death! "O, death, I will be thy plagues. O, grave, I will be thy destruction!" (Hosea XIII., 14.) The morning dawned, the bright sunbeams stole into the room. The boy opened his eyes. "Auntie,"--she was bending over him--"I have been dreaming. I thought I was in a field, and a bull tossed me high up into the air. But I knew in my dream, ’underneath are the everlasting arms.’ Then I dreamed again, and two men were turning me about, and moving my arms and legs, and one said, ’There is not a broken bone, nor even a dislocation. It’s a miracle.’ I tried to say ’underneath are the everlasting arms,’ but I could not speak." The words were very faint and low. She bent close to catch them, then stopped them with a kiss, a pæan of joy in her heart. He spoke again: "Auntie, something is hurting me very much. I can’t move." "Do not try, darling, lie quite still. I will sit beside you and hold your hand." A spasm of pain passed over his face, and he fell again into unconsciousness. But she had no fear, she knew that death had been vanquished by the knowledge that had come to her of life. A low knock came to the door. She opened it, and found her maid there with a cup of tea. She took it from her saying: "Tell them all he lives, and he will live. But I wish to be alone with him for the present. No one is to trouble about me, I am quite well." So she sat down again beside him, waiting and patiently watching, knowing that he would awake again to consciousness. It was nearly noon when he opened his eyes and spoke again. His voice was stronger: "Auntie, was it a waking dream? Was I really in a field, and a bull tossed me? I am so aching all over me." "Yes, darling." "I think I remember now, Auntie. Rosebud and Estelle and Sylvia were there, and Jane called to me, ’Run, run!’ They were not hurt, were they?" "No, darling, not one of them."