She went to the other side of the room, and seating herself in a comfortable easy-chair began in a low, crooning voice to sing one of Doctor Watts' cradle melodies. Probably she had learned it in childhood from her own mother, and in turn sung it again to the infant Daniel. It soothed me better than Beethoven or Wagner's grandest compositions could have done. I lay with closed eyes, seeing in imagination the great army of mothers who had lulled their babies to sleep with those same words, and the angels hovering near with folded wings guarding the sleeping nestlings. The voice grew indistinct, and presently sleep, more deep and refreshing than I had known for weeks, enfolded me. The doctor entered the room at last to put a stop to the music, and found Mrs. Blake tired and perspiring, but singing steadily on. Without missing a note she pointed to the bed and the peaceful sleeper. He smiled grimly and withdrew; no doubt realizing there were other soporifics applied by nature than those weighed and measured by the apothecary. CHAPTER XXVII. CONVALESCENCE. When the curtains were withdrawn from my windows, and I was strong enough to look once more on the outer world, I found the late April sun was bringing back life and beauty to the trees and shrubbery around Oaklands. Thomas and Samuel were well on with their gardening, and already a few brave blossoms were smiling up at us from mother earth. I felt like one who had been visiting dim, mysterious shores, and had got safely back from those outlying regions. I used to lie in those quiet hours of convalescence, trying to decide what was real and what fanciful in the experiences of the last few weeks. When Mrs. Flaxman considered me strong enough to listen to consecutive conversation she gave me the particulars of my sudden attack of illness and the incidents connected therewith. I was one of the first stricken with a virulent type of typhoid fever which, in very many cases, had proved fatal. A want of sanitary precaution in Cavendish had caused the outbreak which caused, in loss of life, and incidental expenses, far more than the most approved drainage would do in a generation. I was amazed when the names of my fellow sufferers were mentioned; among them Mrs. Le Grande, whose recovery was still considered by the doctors exceedingly uncertain. Mr. Winthrop, she informed me, had not sufficient confidence in the local doctors to trust me entirely to their care, and at the height of the fever had sent for one from New York. "But for that," she continued, "I believe you would be in your grave to-day." "I did not think Mr. Winthrop would care very much. He is so angry with me."