Mrs. Benoit cared nothing for that. Her care was her poor little charge. She began immediately one of the hymns that were always ready on her tongue, and which were wonderfully soothing to Daisy. Juanita was old, but her voice was sweet yet and clear; and she sang with a deal of quiet spirit. "'A few more days or years at most, My troubles will be o'er; I hope to join the heavenly host On Canaan's happy shore. My raptured soul shall drink and feast In love's unbounded sea; The glorious hope of endless rest Is ravishing to me.'" Mr. Randolph raised his head from leaning against the door-post, and turned it to listen; with a look of lowering impatience. The screen of the hanging curtain was between him and the couch, and the look did nobody any harm. "'O come, my Saviour, come away, And bear me to the sky! Nor let thy chariot wheels delay-- Make haste and bring it nigh: I long to see thy glorious face, And in thy image shine; To triumph in victorious grace, And be forever thine.'" Mr. Randolph's chair here grated inharmoniously on the floor, as if he were moving; but Juanita went on without heeding it. "'Then will I tune my harp of gold To my eternal King. Through ages that can ne'er be told I'll make thy praises ring. All hail, eternal Son of God, Who died on Calvary! Who bought me with his precious blood, From endless misery.'" Mr. Randolph stood by Mrs. Benoit's chair. "My good woman," he said in suppressed tones, "this is a strange way to put a patient to sleep." "As your honour sees!" replied the black woman placidly. Mr. Randolph looked. Daisy's eyes were closed; the knitted brow had smoothed itself out in slumber; the deep breath told how profound was the need that weakness and weariness had made. He stood still. The black woman's hand softly drew the curtain between Daisy's face and the moonlight, and then she noiselessly withdrew herself almost out of sight, to a low seat in a corner. So Mr. Randolph betook himself to his station in the doorway; and whether he slept or no, the hours of the night stole on quietly. The breeze died down; the moon and the stars shone steadily over the lower world; and Daisy slept, and her two watchers were still. By and by, another light began to break in the eastern horizon, and the stars grew pale. The morning had come. The birds were twittering in the branches before Daisy awoke. At the first stir she made, her father and Mrs. Benoit were instantly at her side. Mr. Randolph bent over her and asked tenderly how she felt. "I feel hot, papa." "Everybody must do that," said Mr. Randolph. "The breeze has died away and the morning is very close." "Papa, have you been awake all night?" He stooped down, and kissed her. "You must go home and get some breakfast and go to sleep," Daisy said, looking at him lovingly with her languid eyes. "Shall I bring you anything from home, Daisy?" he said, kissing her again.