The scene had stirred me as I am seldom stirred, and with the oncoming of night new thoughts and feelings rose from their lair, as strange and beautiful wild animals step from their caves into the deep mystery of darkness. My neighbor next door—Mrs. Thrush, sat on her broad, vine-clad gallery, rocking her little child in her arms. By her side sat her husband, with one arm thrown across her lap. He had laid his paper down, for the daylight was fading, and perhaps his thought was too happy to stoop to daily news. Softly the little wife and mother sang; she had a sweet home voice, and no music of orchestra ever moved me as did her lullaby. I was at that moment an intensely lonely woman. I thought of Mr. Gregory and my future, and still I was lonely. Far away to the east there was a low, long bank of clouds like a mountain range, and as the poetry and melody of the lullaby rose from the little nest on my left, and stole into my thought, I saw a faint light above this line; then a group of mist-like clouds that moved toward me. Slowly the gray haze, tinged with soft light, began to resolve itself into shadowy forms, and my heart stood still as, in some vague way, I traced a connection between the lullaby and the vision, and realized that a message was coming to me. I was perfectly calm, but with the calmness which is the outgrowth of an excitement so tense that it is still. As the vision floated nearer, I heard soft music—a crooning, yearning, soul-satisfying lullaby; I saw a little child, a mother, and a father. The child was as beautiful as an angel, and there was that in its face which made my eyes flood with tears, and my heart ache with yearning; the faces of the parents were too vague for me to recognize at first; then slowly, that of the mother became more distinct, and I saw _myself_ before me—myself, a wife and mother; the visible answer to my heart’s deepest, most secret cry. Still the father’s face was hidden, but as the vision floated by, he turned and looked at me—the vision wife—with a look I had seen before, and I uttered a cry as I recognized _Randolph Chance_. IX As I cried out, I turned slightly and, for a moment, lost the picture. It was changed when again I saw it; Randolph Chance was still there, but he no longer advanced toward the vision wife—she had faded into mist; he came slowly toward me. There was a beautiful look on his face—I cannot describe it—it was too holy to translate into language; but I could feel it vibrate through my being until it set my very soul a-quivering. I had no power of resistance—no wish to resist. I almost think I went toward him, and he was as real to me as if he were in the flesh. I could feel him as he put his arm around my waist, and his face touched mine. The vision child had melted away; and we two were alone; I knew my heart then; I knew I loved this man.