She felt as though she were going with her father along the way through the dark valley,--even to the very gates of jasper and pearl that would give him entrance to the City of Light, then to close, leaving her without. Fainter, yet fainter grew his voice, at length dying away altogether. She heard her name breathed softly, just as he used to speak it when she, a little maid, was nestling in his arms, and he wished to assure himself of her being asleep. "Yes," she whispered. "My baby, 't is growing dark, blackly dark, little one. Ye'd better get to bed." She made no answer--she could not, but listened breathlessly. "My baby--my baby Dot. God keep my baby!" The words were scarcely spoken, but came like long sighs, to mingle and die away with the night wind moaning outside the window. And it was as if the surf caught them, and repeated them to the watching stars. "God--keep--my--baby!" The room was still--still as the great loving heart under her cheek. And the tide was on the ebb. CHAPTER XXVII The summer days found Glover's regiment stationed, a portion at Cambridge, and the remainder on the high grounds of Roxbury, where were also all the other Massachusetts troops, as well as some of those from Connecticut. John Devereux, being on duty at Cambridge, had approved of his wife accepting Mistress Knollys' invitation to stop with her in Dorchester. Her brother-in-law had been killed at Bunker Hill, and his devoted wife, broken-hearted, died soon thereafter, thus leaving Mistress Knollys entirely alone. Mary insisted upon Dorothy accompanying her, for the girl had become greatly changed since her father's death, and Mary, as well as Aunt Lettice, deemed it wise to try the diverting effect of new scenes and associations. Then, too, Dorothy had always been a prime favorite with Mistress Knollys, and returned sincerely the good lady's motherly affection. Thus it was that Aunt Lettice and 'Bitha were left alone at the Devereux farm, whose flocks and stores had already been much depleted by generous contributions sent up to the patriot army about Boston. Mary saw her husband at rare intervals, when it was possible for him to snatch a few hours from his post of duty; but Hugh never came. Mary could readily divine the reason for this, and so could Mistress Knollys, albeit the subject was never mentioned between them: for soon after their arrival, Mary, with Dorothy's consent, had told her of all that related to the young Englishman. At first the old lady was filled with righteous indignation. But when she came to understand and realize how it was with Dorothy's own feelings, she accepted the result with the philosophy that was a part of her sweet nature,--even smiling to herself when she thought of the young man's rare audacity.