“I am sorry.” “Rather be glad.” “It must be a sight for God Himself to see such a woman come awake!” “It is indeed a sight for God, a sight that makes her Maker glad! He sees of the travail of His soul, and is satisfied!--Look at her once more, and sleep.” He let the rays of his candle fall on her beautiful face. “She looks much younger!” I said. “She IS much younger,” he replied. “Even Lilith already begins to look younger!” I lay down, blissfully drowsy. “But when you see your mother again,” he continued, “you will not at first know her. She will go on steadily growing younger until she reaches the perfection of her womanhood--a splendour beyond foresight. Then she will open her eyes, behold on one side her husband, on the other her son--and rise and leave them to go to a father and a brother more to her than they.” I heard as one in a dream. I was very cold, but already the cold caused me no suffering. I felt them put on me the white garment of the dead. Then I forgot everything. The night about me was pale with sleeping faces, but I was asleep also, nor knew that I slept. CHAPTER XLIII. THE DREAMS THAT CAME I grew aware of existence, aware also of the profound, the infinite cold. I was intensely blessed--more blessed, I know, than my heart, imagining, can now recall. I could not think of warmth with the least suggestion of pleasure. I knew that I had enjoyed it, but could not remember how. The cold had soothed every care, dissolved every pain, comforted every sorrow. COMFORTED? Nay; sorrow was swallowed up in the life drawing nigh to restore every good and lovely thing a hundredfold! I lay at peace, full of the quietest expectation, breathing the damp odours of Earth’s bountiful bosom, aware of the souls of primroses, daisies and snowdrops, patiently waiting in it for the Spring. How convey the delight of that frozen, yet conscious sleep! I had no more to stand up! had only to lie stretched out and still! How cold I was, words cannot tell; yet I grew colder and colder--and welcomed the cold yet more and more. I grew continuously less conscious of myself, continuously more conscious of bliss, unimaginable yet felt. I had neither made it nor prayed for it: it was mine in virtue of existence! and existence was mine in virtue of a Will that dwelt in mine.