“Ah! but every time I look at them again a new joy breaks up from the bottom of my heart—just as though they were newly given me. And then to think that there are _two_—so perfectly beautiful—_two!_ God not satisfied to give us _one_, gives us two. Oh, blessed be God! When I forget to thank, to worship Him, may these dear ones forget me. Two!” said she, panting, and taking breath, while her color came and went—“two love-angels!—and so perfectly beautiful—and so perfectly alike—and so loving! look, Raymond!” and she turned down the counterpane, “see, lay them as I will, in a few minutes they are sure to attract each other, to subside together, as it were, until shoulder touches shoulder and cheek meets cheek.” And then she placed their little hands together softly, without waking them, her lips parted and glowed over them an instant, she kissed them lightly and covered them again. “And oh, what a charge! God has given me two pure angels to guard from contamination! I must pray more; I must pray a great deal; I must get the Lord to take me into his confidence about these children, these cherubs. Oh, thank, dearest, thank the Lord for the gift of these two spotless angels, and pray, pray that we may be enabled to present them before his throne, pure as we received them from his hands.” Her face was inspired, was radiant with love, awe, and worship, as she continued, “I receive these babes as the deposit of a special trust from God; he has given me two of his own most beautiful children, shall I not try to be worthy of his confidence? Yes! yes! my two angels,” said she, bending over them again. “How beautiful are the works of his hands! Raymond, do but look how perfectly beautiful they are! These little black, silky heads; these fine brows and delicate features.” “They are very much like _you_, love.” “They are very much like each other.” “They are duplicate copies. I cannot tell one from the other by the closest examination.” “Can you not, indeed, now—oh ! it is easy—I never made a mistake about them; this is Agnes and this is Agatha, you know.” And then she began to point out some infinitesimal marks of distinction, that none but a mother’s eye could possibly have detected. “Now do you not see?” “I do not, love; you will have to dress them differently.” “Oh! never!” “Or tie some badge upon the eldest, that I may know them apart,” smiled Raymond, shaking his head with all its golden waves. “And you are so handsome, Raymond!” exclaimed she, clasping his form, and burying her face again in his bosom. “And, oh! are we not happy? are we not God-blessed—are we not so entirely united—can we have an interest or a wish apart now? Oh, dearest Raymond, through all the ages of eternity you and I—are we not one?” “Dear love, be quiet, you talk so much,” said he, softly and smilingly lifting her head from his bosom.